


No Better Version of Me

by greenmountaingirl



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual!Arya, F/F, F/M, Forced Proximity, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, There is no canon here, Tropes, artist!Gendry, background jon and ygritte, background sansa, background stark relationships, one bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-03-27 14:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19014442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmountaingirl/pseuds/greenmountaingirl
Summary: After losing her father, Arya got stuck in neutral - only functioning when beating the piss out of people on the derby track. Gendry is a starving artist with no family and less money.Listen to their soundtrack here: https://open.spotify.com/user/25t8lkaqwkxwgs4kcrmq44g2z/playlist/3XPgABgsBTwoVxTAUXUqZ9?si=Y-wcpp6vQ-K_FX7lUHe0kw





	1. Chapter 1

Arya clomped her way up five flights of stairs, her quads aching and shaking with each step. It had been a good bout. She scored an all-time high for her team and they skated away with a solid win. And for 78 whole minutes, Arya hadn’t thought about Meera. She shoved her key aggressively in her lock and pushed her way into her flat still trying to avoid looking at all the reminders of Meera’s absence.

Meera had helped her find the flat right after her dad died, right before she found roller derby. And as hard as she had scrubbed the floors and walls in an effort to expunge her memories, Meera still seemed to haunt every room. 

Without turning on the light, Arya grabbed two beers from her fridge and headed for the bathroom. She twisted off the cap as she ran a steaming bath. It was funny, she was glad she had the tub even though Meera had wanted a place with a shower. She had always preferred baths and usually, she was too tired to stand after derby and could only soak herself clean. She threw her sweaty leggings and bra top at the hamper and missed completely. 

“Fuck it,” she said aloud as she lowered herself into the steaming water, hissing at the temperature. 

Meera hated her habit of drinking in the bath.  _ It’s dangerous. You’ll pass out and choke on your own vomit. What am I gonna do with your tiny corpse then? _ Arya’s suggestion of necrophilia hadn’t gone over well. 

Finishing the first beer and reaching for her second, Arya realized that it had been four months since Meera packed her bags and left for New York and her fancy, shiny, “grown-up” job. Arya groaned as her muscles finally unclenched from all the squatting. It was impressive, really, how fast Meera had left her behind and how fast she had belittled the few things that Arya still had holding her together. 

She scrubbed her bubblegum pink hair and shaved her shins, but couldn’t help think that she shouldn’t bother, it wasn’t like she was getting it on the regular anymore. She tipped the last of her beer into her mouth then rinsed out her hair and settled back against the side. One good thing about her tiny stature was that she fit with room to spare in her clawfoot tub.  

Arya leaned back and let herself drift, staring off into space, trying to get up the energy to do something. Anything. She heard her phone go off in the other room and groaned. It could be anyone: her mother with her weekly check-ins; her sister, Sansa, from Paris in need of a sounding board for her latest geopolitical theories; Ygritte using Jon’s phone to bug her to come to the bar. 

Arya sighed and pulled herself out of the tub, soaking most of the tile floor in the process. Her phone pinged again as she was toweling off.  _ Fuck. Definitely family, then. _ She wrapped the hot pink polka-dotted towel around her and padded through to the front hall. 

Her phone was buried in her gear bag--the smell could definitely be considered a biohazard--and had gone off three more times by the time she found it. It said the text was from Jon, but that definitely meant it was from Ygritte. Jon hated texting and always called. Ygritte didn’t have a phone, but since Jon and Ygritte were more like Jogritte these days, they just shared the one. 

 

8:49 **Where are you**

9:01  **You better not be moping**

9:03 **That whore wasn’t good enough for you**

9:03 **It’s been a month**

9:03 **Get your ass to the bar**

 

Arya couldn’t help but smile. Ygritte was not exactly warm and cuddly, but she was loving and kind in her own way. And she didn’t take Jon seriously. Which was good, ‘cause her cousin had a tendency to take himself a little too seriously. The phone went off as Arya was still holding it: 

9:08  **Don’t make me ask Jon to call you** ****

Arya typed a quick “on my way” and ran to her “room.” It was a loft apartment, so really, it was just a space divided from the living room by a closet in the corner. She dug out black skinny jeans with an obscene amount of zippers and a grey sweater that was raggedy but comfortable. It wasn’t like her cousin’s bar was anything special, and she wasn’t on the pull. She was about to grab her helmet when she realized she had already had two beers. Two beers broke Dad’s rule. Sighing, she made her way on foot with no one to blame but herself. 

  
  


 

 

 

~At the Bastards’~

Gendry was wiping down the bar when a girl with pink hair who didn’t look old enough to take A-levels hauled herself up into a seat. 

“Sorry, love, but no underage drinkers in here.” He put the cloth over his shoulder and braced his hands against the bar. “I can call you a cab if you need.”

She smiled. It was surprisingly impish and crinkled up her eyes. “You must be new.”

“Yeah, I am. Do we usually serve underage drinkers?” He shuffled his weight. It was only his fifth shift. He had just found the barter flat and didn’t want to have to find a new one because he screwed up some weird customer test in the first week. 

“Jon and Ygritte know me.” Her left eyebrow arched perfectly. “I’m older than I look.” 

“You know Jon and Ygritte?”

“You could say that.”

Jon came out from the office, and, without stopping, wrapped the strange young woman in a hug. “Christ, it’s good to see you.” She smirked over Jon’s shoulder before closing her eyes and hugging him back. He released her and yelled towards the office. “Ygritte--your nagging worked.” 

Ygritte came out, buttoning up her flannel shirt, and smiled. “Arya!” She didn’t miss a beat before pulling a pint of cider and pouring a hefty whisky. “You didn’t ride tonight, did you?” 

“Nope. Already started drinking. Didn’t seem like the best plan.” She drank deep from her pint and then stuck out her hand. “I’m Arya, by the way. I grew up with Jon.” 

Her hand felt tiny and soft against his calloused palm. “Gendry.”

“You took the flat upstairs then?” He nodded. “God, Jon’s been trying to let that dump for ages. I’m glad he talked someone into it.” 

Gendry heard the teasing note in her voice, but it still smarted, the way she casually wrote off the tiny apartment that he was ecstatic to have to himself after dealing shitty roommates in shittier flats. And with the way she sounded, she didn’t need to work two jobs to make ends-meet. Knowing Jon’s family connections, she probably didn’t even need to work one. 

Jon came back with a huge pile of pasta and put it in front of Arya without saying a word. Gendry handed her some silverware, and she dug in with a surprising appetite for her stature. 

Leaving her to her meal, he pulled some pints, made a few martinis, then wandered back over to wash glasses. She was finishing up by the time he got back. “A little hungry, were you?” 

“I can’t cook. Not even boil pasta.” She paused and drained the last third of her pint. “Jon and Ygritte feed me when they can.” 

Gendry grinned. She didn’t exactly strike him as the domestic type. “Everyone has to have someone to look after them.”

“Who looks after you?” 

Gendry looked up. Usually, bartenders just talk, and people use them as a confessional or ignore them altogether. Arya’s question took him off guard. 

“Sorry.” She shook her head and drained her glass. “I don’t know how to--” she gestured vaguely and trailed off. 

“Talk to people like a normal human? Without asking about their deepest secrets within the first five minutes of meeting them?” 

She laughed and nodded. “Yeah, that.”

“Well since you asked--my mom used to. But I lost her about two years ago. Since then? Not really anybody.” It was part of why Gendry ended up where he was. Ygritte and Jon seemed kind, if a little eccentric and hip for his taste, but being around mostly normal people again… it didn’t seem so bad. 

“I’m sorry.” Arya fiddled with her now empty whisky glass. “I lost my dad. I know how hard that is.” Her grey eyes look haunted and shadowed; this information wasn’t volunteered lightly. 

Ygritte saved Gendry from having to come up with an appropriate response by appearing at Arya’s shoulder. “If you wait until after closing, Jon or I can walk home with you.” 

“I think I can take myself home.”

“Yeah, but I’ll have to listen to Jon moan for like forty-five minutes until you call him and tell him you’re safe, and that’s forty-five minutes I  _ could _ be sitting on his face…” She trailed off and wriggled her eyebrows. 

Arya laughed and blushed. Now that was interesting. Her whole vibe screamed _ tough as nails _ . Blushing at the mention of sex seemed off brand. Interesting. 

“I can walk her home,” Gendry spoke without thinking. Arya and Ygritte both turned to him so fast, he was surprised they didn’t get dizzy. “I mean--” he cleared his throat and played with his towel--“I mean I know you and Jon opened today. You must be tired. I can walk Arya home if she doesn’t mind my company a bit longer.” He had no idea what he was saying but couldn’t seem to force his mouth to stop moving. 

Ygritte’s mouth twitched as though she were forcing down a grin. “Well, Arya, do you mind?”

“I don’t mind. I mean he seems a bit thick, but at least he’s tall.” Her voice was wry, and Gendry felt somewhat embarrassed, but also excited for last call. 

  
  
  


 

 

~Last Call~ 

Arya drained her final pint as Gendry hustled out a few stragglers, offering to call cabs and cashing out tabs. Well, her Saturday night wasn’t as shit as she thought it would be. Jon had been busy “bookkeeping” in his office with Ygritte-- _ you’d think they’d stop banging like rabbits after five years of marriage _ \--so he couldn’t fuss too much over her after feeding her. 

And Gendry had turned out to be adequate company. Funny, almost. He wasn’t what Arya expected from a guy who was bartering pub shifts for a rather crap flat. He didn’t look strung out, or like he was an eternal manchild trying to “find” himself. He was actually… rather hot. Like, not in a famous-Hollywood-Chris-kinda way, but in a well-formed, normal dude kind of way. And when he bent over and attached the new keg, Arya realized just  _ how _ long it had been since she’d gotten laid. 

The last of the man buns and their ironically-wearing-plaid dates were hustled out of the door. Gendry turned around and sighed. “I can’t believe you really waited around for last call.” 

Arya smiled. “Well, I mean, you’re passably funny, and Jon’s a worrier. This is the easiest road for all of us.” 

Gendry pulled himself a pint. “Mind if I have one before we go?” Arya shook her head and filled her own glass again. “So why are you bumming around your brother--”

“Cousin.” 

“Excuse me,  _ cousin’s _ pub on a Saturday night?”

“Well, Jon and I did grow up together. More like siblings than cousins. And I’m here because Jon likes to check up on me. And if I can drink while he does that? Why not.” Gendry laughed, and Arya grinned. It had been a while since she’d found someone she didn’t immediately hate. “How come you’re bartering a crap flat for shifts as a passably decent pub?”

“Oh, your basic starving artist story.”

“Artist, really?” Whatever Arya thought he’d say, it wasn’t that. 

Gendry drank deeply from his pint of Doom Bar and sighed. “Well, aspiring artist, I guess, would be more accurate. I’m also a mechanic.”

“Mechanic, artist, bartender--quite eclectic, aren’t you?”  Gendry grinned. “What’s your medium, then?”

“Metal. I sculpt with it. The shop I work for lets me take home scrap.” 

“Scrap or crap?”

“Somewhere in between.” He finished his pint and set his glass down. “Ready to go?” 

Arya nodded and finished her fourth (or was it fifth?) cider. 

They walked in silence for a while. It was cold outside, the kind of damp cold that made its way deep into your skeleton and froze you from the inside out. Their breath turned to tiny puffs of fog that glowed under the streetlights. 

“This is me.” Arya stopped. “Thanks for the escort.”

“Did you just call me an escort? Don’t they get paid?” Gendry’s eyebrows rose as he spoke.

“Ha-ha. Like anyone would pay to be around you.”

“Ouch.” They both shuffled their feet, unsure how to say goodbye. It had been a strange night. 

Arya couldn’t handle the tension. And she didn’t want him to necessarily leave. “So I won’t pay you, but I wouldn’t mind being your friend?” _ Could I sound more pathetic? _

“Friend? Do you usually formally ask for friendship?”

She grinned. “No. But I don’t usually have friends.”

He stuck out his hand. “Friends?”

“Friends.” And they shook. 


	2. Chapter 2

Arya let herself into Gendry’s apartment. She had knocked, but she knew that when he was working, he couldn’t hear a bomb go off between his welding helmet and headphones. Sparks flew off the old sheet of metal that Gendry was refashioning from an old oil barrel into some strange wavy shape. Arya grabbed a beer from the fridge on her way by and pulled herself up on to the counter. Crossing her legs and settling in watch Gendry work. 

He was sweaty and had smudges of scorch marks on his arms where his sleeves were rolled back. It was obvious that between his art and his work on cars, Gendry was seriously muscled. 

_ I wonder if his skin as hot to the touch as it looks? _

She shook herself and drank some beer she had pilfered from his fridge. They were friends. He wasn’t interested. She wasn’t good at relationships. There were a good number of reasons this was not a path they should go down. 

  
  
  


Gendry’s arms shook and strained with the weight of his welding iron. His most recent work wasn’t turning out as he had intended. His headphones pounded  _ The Ramones _ into his head as he made deliberate dents in the metal. When he was finally satisfied that the sheet looked like waves, he put out his oxy-acetylene torch, turned off the vent, and finally unplugged his headphones. 

“You have terrible taste in beer.” 

Gendry swung around. “Well, maybe I just don’t wanna supply the tiny beer thief that appears uninvited and raids my beer supply without permission.” Arya rolled her eyes and went to light a cigarette. “And you know the rule about cigarettes. Do you want to blow us all up?” 

He plucked her cigarette out of her hands and crushed it the sink. Arya resettled herself on the counter and held out what was left of her beer. “What are we doing tonight?” 

They had settled into a strangely comfortable frienship since their odd businesslike beginning nearly a month ago. She would pop up in his studio - he had just started leaving it unlocked so she would stop picking it - or the bar - where she made it very hard to focus. He had even watched a derby bout of hers--and would never assume her stature reflects her strength ever again. 

“I have to work. Jon is taking Ygritte on some special anniversary date.” 

Arya pulled a disgusted face. “Gross.” 

Gendry laughed. “I mean, if you want, you can get plastered at the bar and I’ll get you home.” 

Arya tilted her head, weighing her options. Gendry drank the rest of the beer and stripped off his sweat-soaked apron and flannel shirt. 

“What are you working on?” Arya asked.

“I don’t know yet. This isn’t turning out like the way I pictured. Guess I’ll know what it is when it is done.” 

Arya tilted her head and eyed the cooling metal. “It reminds me of the ocean.” 

Gendry smiled to himself. Arya liked art more than she was willing to admit. It seemed too emotional and messy for her taste, but she had a good eye. “I’m gonna take a shower. Decide what you want to do.”

Gendry had always loved the feeling of the lukewarm water running across his overheated skin. He never understood people that took boiling hot showers. He spent so much of his time being cooked alive inside his welding helmet and heavy apron that his showers were never more than tepid.  

He was glad Arya was so comfortable around him. He just wished she wasn’t so… her. She was a tiny thunderstorm of uncertainty, one that could either electrocute you or burst into a rainbow without any warning. He couldn’t stop watching her when she talked  (always perched and never slouching). She came off as cold and frigid, but after getting to know her, he realized she was the exact opposite. She didn’t know how to let people get close without burning them. And he couldn’t stop wondering what she would taste like if he kissed the collar bone that always peeked out of her ratty sweaters. 

But they were friends, and he wasn’t willing to risk that just because he hadn’t gotten laid in a while. She still seemed to have someone else on her mind most days.. And even when she wasn’t, there was no hint she’d be thinking about  _ him _ . 

Arya was still on his counter with another beer when he came out of the shower in jeans and a henley. “Coming downstairs for more free beer?” 

She polished off the rest of her bottle and followed him out of his apartment. The bar was mostly empty as he held the door for Arya. Ygritte was behind the bar in some sort of argument with a large red-headed man that could pass as her dad. 

“Fuck you--you know that you had four  _ and _ you bought your buddy top shelf shots for an  _ hour _ .”

“You little wench! I’m in here every fucking night, but I don’t have to come back.” 

_ Oh Tormund, wrong move. _ Gendry thought. 

“You’re damn right you don’t.” Ygritte smiled. It was a dangerous sort of smile, the sort you see before you get slapped. “You’re barred,” she said, her voice sickenly sweet. 

“Barred?!” 

“Yes. Barred. A month.”

“For fuck's sake. Crazy redheads.” The giant mumbled as he slammed the eighty pounds he owed down on the bar and went for the door. 

“Arya!” Ygritte grabbed her and hauled her in for a hug. Arya seemed to be choking but not fighting it. Gendry figured she could save herself and started slicing fruit and setting up the bar. 

  
  
  


Arya had long ago claimed the farthest stool to the end of the bar as her own and always sat there when she came to visit Jon. Now she used the same spot to bother Gendry. It was a good place to people watch, too, and to nurse her cider and whiskey. Tonight, though, it felt a bit lonely. 

The Bastards’ was especially busy tonight, and Gendry couldn’t find time to lean and chat to her, which left her feeling oddly alone in the crowd. So she sat and watched Gendry work, feeling a strange stab of jealousy through her chest when he smiled and laughed and almost flirted with a brunette with fuck-me eyes and a low-cut top.

_ Not  _ that she liked Gendry. She just thought he was hot. And he was. Objectively. And they weren’t together. They were just friends. Arya groaned and lowered her head down on the bar table.  

“This seat taken?”

Arya recognized that voice before she looked up. It was a voice she craved, and a voice she never to hear again. 

“Meera.” She sat up and turned towards the source of the voice. 

“Hello, Arya.” 

Arya couldn’t bring herself to speak. There were too many questions. Too much emotion. Too many barely stitched-together wounds. “I went by our flat, but you weren’t there. And I knew you didn’t have practice on Saturday nights…” 

Meera trailed off. Not that Arya cared. She couldn’t take in anything she was saying after she called the apartment “ours.” Arya mechanically swallowed the rest of her whiskey, enjoying the burn as it hit her chest. “I thought you’d moved to New York?”

Meera blushed and settled on the stool. “I’m in London for a couple of weeks for a project.” Arya didn’t respond, but leaned over and filled her pint again. She would’ve filled it with whiskey, but that bottle was too far away. “I thought maybe we could talk?”

“About?” 

Meera sighed. “Well, I miss you. Could we try to be friends?”

“Friends?” Her voice sounded odd. Hollow.  

“I just wish you were still in my life.” Meera tucked her hair behind her ear, and one stray curl bounced back. Arya could remember playing with that curl while they lay in  _ her _ bed in  _ her _ apartment with the curtains wide open, basking in the afterglow. “I care so much about you.”

Arya feels the chill creeping up her hands. Freezing her in place. Keeping her safe behind her frigid armor. But it wasn’t fast enough. Meera reached out and laced their fingers, melting her protective layer of ice before it could harden itself. 

“Can’t we just take some time to figure things out?” Meera asked.

Arya looked at her then, meeting her warm brown eyes. And she was screwed. Arya leaned in and kissed her. Meera tasted the same, like spearmint gum and the last of the crap white wine she had on the plane. It was so familiar and safe that it took her breath away. 

  
  
  


Gendry was wiping up a spilled cosmo for the same brunette who was getting increasingly bold with each round. She was hot--there was no denying--but he wasn’t as interested as he probably should have been. He smiled as he pushed another drink across to her, and she winked in response before heading for a table. He hadn’t talked to Arya in hours despite her being just at the other end of the bar. 

He glanced down the bar, apparently she didn’t need checking up on. She seemed to have found someone to spend the evening with. He watched as Arya threaded her fingers through the girl’s wild curls and deepened the kiss. 

“That’s not good.” Ygritte appeared at his shoulder. 

He knew he should look away, but he was riveted. He felt a hot blush rush up his neck. “Why not?” 

“That’s her ex. That fuckin’ whore broke her heart.” 

Ah. The Ex. 

Gendry sighed and looked down. “I thought you guys were out all night?”

“We were asked to leave the restaurant.” Gendry raised his eyebrows. “Apparently there were complaints about our ‘behavior.’” 

Ygritte’s lip curled up as she said the word, her disgust obvious. Gendry choked back a laugh as Jon slipped his arms around the Ygritte. She immediately softened and leaned into the embrace. “If you want to head out there, feel free. Looks like it’s slowing down anyway.” 

Gendry glanced around. The brunette was still watching him from a bar top table, and the way she leaned just the right way to expose a hint more of cleavage…  it was definitely an invitation. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I might.”

He pulled himself beer and headed over to the girl in question. “This seat taken?”

“Now it is.” She played with the stem of her martini glass. “My name is Margery.”

“Gendry.” 

 

Arya blinked as her curtains were yanked open, the sun’s rays stabbing her alcohol-soaked brain. “Gah, fuck.”

“I forgot you were such a grouch in the morning.”

She shielded her eyes tight from the brutal sunlight and winced. It all came back to her. Gendry. Bar.  _ Meera _ . She sat up. “You’re still here.” 

Meera holds out a cup of tea. Black with sugar. Not how she takes it, but she’s too hungover to argue. 

Meera smiled like the a cat in cream and sat on the bed next to her. “Of course I am, darling.” 

Arya lay back and shrank deeper into her pillows, wishing she’d be buried beneath them. Last time Meera was in this apartment, she said that they were over. That she couldn’t keep waiting around for Arya to grow up. She said she wanted to “find herself,” and all Arya could hear was that she was somehow defective. Broken. Less than Meera. Less than what she wanted. 

Meera’s hair shone red as the weak midwinter sunshine hit it. Arya wanted so much to feel happy in this moment, but all she felt was numb. The cold armor of ice she had needed last night washed over her now, too late to save her. 

Arya set down her cup of tea--she hated how sweet it was--and crawled out of bed. She couldn’t sit on those sheets if she was gonna make her point. “You should go, Meera.”

“Go?” Meera’s eyes widened. “Go where?”

“I don’t know.” Arya laughed, hard and brittle. “I don’t know, and I don’t really care.” 

“But last night…?”

“Last night was a mistake. A backslide. You left.”

“For a job.” Meera stood at the other side of the bed. This whole scene so familiar, Arya knew what would happen next. “To be a grown up. To do something with my life. Just because you’re fine with living like the child you are, doesn’t mean the  _ rest _ of us care to stay that way.” 

Arya laughed, really laughed, this time. “Thanks for reminding me.” Her head pulsed with her hangover and the flood of emotions she wanted to shove away. “We can’t do this. I - I can’t do this. With you.”

Meera’s eyes filled with tears. “But I -”

“No. You didn’t come back for me. You came back for work. The same reason you left.” Arya went across the room and dug through her closet as she spoke. “Get your stuff.” She pulled out an already-packed box, was everything Meera left the last time she was here. “Take this. And go.” 

Arya left the room before Meera could say anything else and went into the bathroom, locking the door and running the bath. She scrubbed at her skin with water hot enough to scald, attempting to burn away the memory of Meera’s hands. 

  
  
  


Gendry woke up in a pink bedroom. Very pink. Pink sheets, hot pink duvet, pink and black wallpaper. He stretched his body and sat up, looking around for any sign that Margery was still around. He found a note instead. 

_ Last night was fun. Lock up on your way out. Call if you’re ever lonely. xxx M _

Gendry pulled on his pants and looked around for his shirt and jacket. His boots were still by the front door. He checked his phone in the pocket--no messages. He couldn’t help but feel let down. Usually Arya would’ve bugged him by 8 am, inquiring after his latest hangover. She was probably still in bed with her ex; or maybe not  _ ex _ anymore.  

The morning drizzle turned into full-on rain after he stepped outside. Rain droplets pelted ceaselessly against his leather bomber as he trudged home. Alone. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all so amazing! The response to this fic has been so inspiring and it makes me soooo happy! Your comments are all so sweet and inspiring - thank you so much for taking the time to write them to me. I am well into chapter three and (sort of) have a plan from there on out. (Usually, I have the most organized way of writing but that is just not happening this time...) Come and yell at me on tumblr @greenmountaingirl.


	3. Chapter 3

Gendry let out a heavy sigh as he readjusted the ice on his hand. He had slipped, trying to weld together his latest piece, and lost his concentration. It wasn’t permanently damaging, but the torch burn was definitely gonna leave a scar. 

He should have been focusing. But all he could think about was Arya. He hadn’t seen or talked to her in over a week. Not since she left the Bastards’ with that girl. He had texted her with no response, but he could see that she had read his messages. And he knew she was alive because Jon and Ygritte had talked about how well she did at her latest bout. (They also mentioned that it descended into a fist fight, started by Arya when she leapt on some huge guy in the crowd for making fun of her height.) He pulled the ice off his hand to check the swelling—

“That looks painful.” Gendry spun around. Arya was perched on his windowsill. “Apparently you need adult supervision when you use your fancy art toys.” 

“When did you get here?” 

“After your fortieth ‘fuck’, right before the ice.” He was listening, but mostly, he was cataloging details about her: the circles under her eyes were dark, the new bruise on her collarbone, the fact that she looked like she was starving. And the fact that until this moment, he hadn’t realized how much he had missed her. “Do you need a ride to the hospital?”

Gendry shook his head, “No, just a burn. Sets me back on my current piece.” Leaning back against the counter, he watched her fidget. “Where’ve you been for the last week?”

She didn’t look at him. “It was kind of a shit week.” 

She felt guilty, he realized, and was waiting for him to yell or tell her to get out. 

“Well, I do know something about those.” She did look up then. “And lucky for you, I know a great cure for shit weeks.”

Her left eyebrow arched. “You do, huh?” 

“Yeah. A bottle of whiskey and a boxing match.” Arya grinned. “Have you ever seen a bare-knuckle match?”

“No. Are you fighting in it?”

“Fuck, no. I haven’t been that stupid since high school, but I have a friend who still fights. He invited me to watch tonight.”

“You have friends?”

“Yeah. Sometimes they even text me back.” 

She flushed. “Yeah, I’m—” she sighed—“like, sorry, or whatever. About that.” 

“That was almost an apology.” 

  
  


Arya wasn’t sure what she had expected when she showed up at Gendry’s after avoiding him for a week. She wasn’t even sure  _ why  _ she had avoided him. Embarrassed that he had seen her all over Meera? Jealous after seeing him flirt and go home with another woman? Guilt over feeling possessive of him?

Showing up without fuss seemed like the best way to break the silence. And after a week of being actively ignored, he didn’t yell or get mad at her. He just accepted it and invited her drinking. She didn’t have anyone else in her life who would do that. 

They bought a decent bottle of whiskey—Arya’s treat as penance for being an ass—and caught the tube to Brixton. 

“Have you ever been to Brixton?” 

“Not that I know of.”

“You’d know if you have.”

He lead her through a series of blocks lit up by the occasionally unbroken streetlights, lined with buildings covered in graffiti that weren’t there for artistic or aesthetic reasons. Finally, they entered an industrial park with what looked like a series of abandoned factories. 

“So who are we watching fight?”

“An old friend named Pod. He was in the army for a bit. Got shot and got out a few years ago.” He turned another corner, and Arya rushed to keep up. “We both used to fight a bit in high school for extra money, but now I think he does it just as an outlet.”

“I know all about that.” 

Arya still used derby as therapy, pushing all her anger and grief into every hit. It had felt so good to pound Sandor Clegane’s face. It had been the high point of her week.  

Gendry stopped so fast that Arya ran into him. “Ready?” 

He hauled opened a nondescript metal door and waved her inside.  

Arya looked around at the crowd. It was eclectic and electric, the excitement carefully contained. There were obviously the fighters who looked like caged animals, pacing and flexing. There were the hangers-ons, girls with fake tans and faker boobs. But there were also perfectly average nobodies like her. 

Gendry opened their whiskey and passed it to her for the first sip. The burn felt good and she passed it back. 

“Where’s Pod?” 

Gendry’s height was an obvious advantage in the crowd and he looked over at the board listing the fighters. “He doesn’t fight for a while. I’ll bet he’s claimed some corner and made some friends.” 

Gendry started through the crowd and Arya tried to keep up but couldn’t cut a swath quite like him. “Gendry!” She called and he turned back. 

“You’re tinier than I expected.” Arya flushed. He stuck out his hand. “Come on.” It felt perfectly natural to take his hand, to relish the rasp of his callouses against her hand. To admire how large and warm his hand was around hers. 

“Oi! Pod!” He called out when they were through the worst of the crowd, Arya couldn’t see a guy but did see two women perched on one person. 

When he came up for air, the girls parted and each took an arm. Pod looked younger than she would have thought, round-faced with warm brown eyes that crinkled as he smiled. “My boy!” Gendry laughed as they did the manly thump-on-the-back hug thing. “Did you bring a  _ lady _ to one of my fights?!”

Arya blushed as he looked at her. “I’m Arya. I came for the alcohol and the violence.” 

He laughed and kissed the back of her hand like some old fashioned romance character, then lowered his voice and briefly tightened his hand around hers, “I will do my best violence just for you.” 

He was good. No wonder the two women looked ready to claw Arya's eyes out. 

The fight was fun, if short—as warm and sweet as Pod was, he was vicious in the ring. He toyed with his opponent for three rounds, then headbutted him into submission in the fourth. They waved Pod off to celebrate with his ladies—not the same ladies from before the fight. 

  
  
  


Gendry lead Arya back through the winding blocks of Brixton, testing out Pod’s fighting style with really bad shadowboxing and polishing off their bottle of whiskey. Gendry adored the weight of her against his upper arm as they lounged in the empty train car back to her neighborhood. This little tough-as-nails fae-like creature had somehow chosen him as a human cane. “I have to admit it, you were right.” She broke the silence a block from her place. “That actually was just what I needed.”

He laughed. “Admitting I’m right about something? This must be a first.” He dodged her elbow check. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Come up for another drink?” 

He should say no. He should go home. He’d had plenty to drink already, and he should get out of there. Not make things even more complicated. 

“Yeah… yeah I could have another.” 

He followed her up the stairs and tried—he really tried—not to stare at her ass, but in the end, he couldn’t stop himself. She was a few steps ahead of him, and it was right at eye level. He cleared his throat. 

“Out of breath already?” 

“No, uh, something in my throat.” 

Arya stopped at the landing, unlocked the door, and swept her arm in a grand gesture. “This is where the magic happens.”

Gendry had never been inside her place. It was both exactly as he’d imagined, and completely the opposite. It wasn’t all that big. More like a glorified studio with giant windows and an overstuffed chair in the corner that looked well lived-in. He could see an unmade bed in one corner, and a black sports bra hanging on the closet door knob. Arya shifted her weight back and forth, looking around nervously as if he were going to find it lacking in comparison to his barter flat. “It seems very you.”

“Not sure that’s a compliment.” She started rummaged around in her cupboards. “I apparently don’t have any food, and I think the closest pizza place is closed…” She opened the fridge. It was empty except for what looked like expired milk, a stick of butter, and a six pack of beer. “Beer?”

Gendry took the offered bottle. “Another first—I get a beer  _ from _ you.”

“Don’t get used to it.” She smiled, and they tapped her bottle against his. Arya flopped down into the oversized chair and let her left leg dangle over the arm, leaving Gendry to settle against the old metal radiator. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Would it matter if I said no?” 

“I mean, like, a  _ personal _ question.”

Gendry shifted so that he could watch her face. Her hair was still windlown from their walk, a tangled mess drifting in front of her eyes. All he wanted to do was push it back so he could see her better. “You can ask me anything.” 

“Did you always know you wanted to be an artist?” 

Gendry sighed. “No. I… I don’t think I really thought about being anything.”

“What does that mean?” Arya shifted in the chair so she was perched with her legs folded like a kid in an elementary school playground. He turned to face her. 

“I mean - well I guess I figured you noticed - I didn’t grow up with-”

“Money?” Her voice was thick with guilt, like it was somehow her fault that his mom couldn’t pay the bills.

“Yeah, it was just my mom and I. There wasn’t a lot to go around, so I figured I’d do anything to make a buck.”

“Like fighting?”

“Yeah. I mean, not very often. I wasn’t any good really.” He cracked a smile. “Apparently just being bigger than everyone is not an advantage.” Gendry took a long gulp of his beer. “I thought about joining the army with Pod. But in the end, I didn’t. Mom was sick then, so I wanted to be home with her.”

“What happened?”

“Breast cancer. She—uh—she had fought for a long time. Eventually it was too much..” He coughed, trying to clear the emotion that clogged his throat. “I think in the end she was relieved.”

Arya was silent, but for once, she didn’t look away. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Gendry coughed again. “Thanks.” He couldn’t bring his eyes up from the floor, studying the grains of the faded wood and polish. “Must have been harder for you with your dad. Not knowing it was gonna happen. Not getting to say goodbye.” 

She shifted deeper into the chair, almost like she was huddling away from the pain.“Yeah. I guess,” Arya let out a humorless laugh. “I think the hardest part wasn’t losing him, as shite as that is to say. It was losing who I was, you know?” Gendry shook his head. “Like who you are now is different than who you would have been, had your mom not been sick. Had you joined the army.”

“Yeah. I suppose.” He didn’t admit have any idea what she was talking about. 

“No, see, this is the thing about stuff like this. I—” Arya sat up straighter, her emotions sobering her up, “See I was this perfectly ambitious girl. 20 years old. Had a plan. Wanted to be a counselor. I was on track with my psychology course, and then—BOOM—I’m not. I’m someone else now. I’m... drinking vodka from the bottle on some train to fuck-knows-where, and failing out of my classes, and getting a shitload of money I have no idea what to do with and—” she gestured wildly, beer spilling from her bottle—“ and then I just stop.” 

Tears welled up in her eyes. Gendry’s heart clenched in response. 

“I stop. I find this place, and Meera.” Arya rolls her eyes. “And roller derby. I jumped the tracks. I don’t even know if I’m on the same train anymore.” 

She had started to mix metaphors again, but he actually did get it this time. It sounded like instead of starting a new life, she was trying to run away from one she could have lived.

“Maybe who you are now is who you were meant to be anyways?” Arya looked away, watching the twinkling city lights out the window. “I mean, I think you’re pretty great the way you are.”

She snorted. “But what if this is it for me? What if I’m stuck like this forever?”

“Forever is a pretty long time.” Arya rolled her eyes and looked back at him. He had to force himself not to laugh. “I’m just saying, it’s a long time to be stuck. Maybe you’ll  _ un _ stick someday soon.”

Her voice cracked on a single word. “How?”

Gendry laughed. “I have no idea.” Arya’s face twitched. Gendry could make out a slight hint of a dimple showing, and it sent a shot of warmth through his chest. “I’m not going to tell you put yourself back out there, or like, go back to school or anything. I’m just saying I think you’re pretty tough, and brave, and awesome... and if you feel stuck now, maybe you’ll awesome your way out of the situation.” 

  
  


Arya could feel the tears and mascara streaming down her face, but couldn’t bring herself to wipe them off. She felt both relieved and numb. The ice that shielded her chest and her heart seemed to be melting ever so slightly. But it wasn’t scary. It felt like she was finally waking up. 

She hadn’t told anyone about feeling stuck. Ever. Not Sansa. Definitely not Meera. Not even Jon. But she told Gendry. This guy that she met at a bar only a month ago. “Thanks.”

“For what?” He tilted his head. 

She gestured vaguely. “For not letting me feel so broken.” 

Gendry nodded “I mean, we’re friends, right? We shook on it?” He gave her a small grin and it sent a trickle of warmth through her chest, opening another crack in the ice. 

“Will you stay?” Arya looked at her hands still holding the beer bottle. “I mean, like, not sex,” she mumbled, ignoring her blush. “But like, just to stay?” No answer. Arya could feel the loneliness looming in the dark corners of her flat. “I’m not sure I want to be alone tonight.” 

“I can stay.” He looked right at her as he said it. 

They both stood awkwardly, dancing around each other in the small living room as she showed him where the bathroom was and found him a clean toothbrush. She rushed to her closet to change into fleece-lined leggings and an oversized stained Manchester United t-shirt. 

“United? Really?” She spun around and shot him a glare. Gendry held up his hands. “I didn’t see anything. But seriously? Man U?”

Arya could feel herself flush. “Gotta brush my teeth.” 

She lingered in the bathroom for as long as she could. First she wiped every trace of mascara clean off her face, then washed it twice. She even went so far as to actually floss her teeth. She could hear Gendry moving around,  picking up the beer bottles, hanging his coat by the door... Finally, when it was obvious that she should be done, she came out. “I can sleep in the chair.”

He looked up. “That’s ridiculous. It’s your place.”

“I’m  _ much _ smaller than you. You take the bed.”

“Why don’t we both share the bed so we can actually sleep?” 

Arya’s stomach made a strange swooping feeling like she was plummeting down a roller coaster, hitting the bottom at high speed. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Totally. Yeah.” 

_ Stop saying yeah, you fucking numpty. _

“Can I take that as a yes?” His left eyebrow rose up, and Arya was glad—now all she wanted to do was punch him. Not kiss him. 

She clambered over the bed to the wall side and got under the covers. The sheets were flannel and staticky against her fleece, but it was warm and cozy, so she couldn’t bring herself to complain. He laid down next to her, the box spring dipping towards his weight. 

“Goodnight.”

“Night.” 

  
  
  


Gendry didn’t sleep. He wasn’t ever much of a sleeper, but with Arya so close, his nerve tingled like there were electric charges running up and down his body. He watched her sigh deep in her sleep, longing once again to run his hands through her hair. She sniffled and snuggled deeper into her pillow, scooching and towards him.  _ You’re just warm. She didn’t want to sleep alone. Don’t read too much into it.  _

_ Like that’s ever going to happen.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am mostly done with chapter 4 so that should be up soon and then it might be about 7-10 days between chapters for a bit but I will try to update as much as possible. Thanks as always to my beta, cheerleader and TM, Nightjar_Patronus! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the love and comments - they mean so so so much to me! You can always come scream at me on Tumblr under the same username. xx


	4. Chapter 4

Gendry woke as the sun hit his face and tried to remember where he was. 

Then Arya shifted, and he remembered. She had nestled closer throughout the night and was now on his shoulder, drooling ever so slightly. He smiled at her complete abandon in sleep. All day, she looked ready to fight anyone who looked at her wrong. She’d never let her guard down—except, apparently, with him. 

He was well aware he was falling for her. Hard. Fast. It was terrible. But he wasn’t sure he could do anything to stop it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Arya sighed and curled her fingers into his shirt.  _ Shit.  _ He was well and truly screwed. 

  
  


She smelled bacon, toast, and coffee before she even opened her eyes. 

_ Fucking Meera. I’m going to end that bitch. _

Nothing like waking up on the wrong side of a relationship. 

“I didn’t peg you as someone who liked to sleep in.” 

Arya’s eyes popped open. 

“Hey—sorry I didn’t mean to wake you but I was fucking starving.” Gendry had his hip propped against the back of her chair and was watching her. 

“No it’s—” her voice croaked, her throat dry from sleep—“It's fine.” 

She glanced around. He looked far better than should be allowed in the morning. 

“Coffee?” He held out a second mug. 

She reached for it gratefully. “I don’t have any coffee.”

“No. You didn’t have  _ anything _ . Did you know you can’t actually live off of cheap cigarettes and expensive whiskey?” His right eyebrow arched. “I borrowed your keys and ran to the market.” 

“Wait—you  _ made _ food?” Gendry’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. “You can cook?”

“Yeah. I mean I’m no Julia Childs, but I can cook. Mom taught me.” 

Arya’s heart clenched in response. He was such a good guy. Dependable, kind, nice. Most might consider these traits bland, but in her mind, they were all very underrated qualities. They were also qualities that made her feel inadequate, as she was none of them. 

“Hungry?” he asked.

Arya nodded so that she could at least try to avoid talking a little bit longer. 

What was happening to her? Having someone cook her breakfast? Only her mother and Meera had ever done that. Her one night stands were always out before food was ever negotiable. Not that Gendry was a one night stand. Not that they were doing anything. He liked his women taller. Sexier. Not tiny or angry or stuck. 

  
  


Gendry handed over a giant bacon sandwich with cheese. He could tell that she wasn’t uncomfortable having someone in her space. But he hadn’t wanted to sneak out on her—he couldn’t bring himself to do the walk of shame from his friend’s flat. 

He knew he should give her space. Go home. Finish the pieces for his upcoming show. Let her avoid having to push him out the door. 

“Alright, now that you’re properly fed and caffeinated—” he clapped his hands together—“I should really get home and get some work done before I have to get to my paying job tomorrow.” 

Her mouth was full, but she nodded, looking like a punk rock chipmunk. 

“So… I guess I will see you around?” 

He headed for the door before she could say anything. 

“Thanks!” She called as he opened the door. He turned. “Thanks. For like, you know… the bacon. And stuff.” 

Did holding her while she slept count as “stuff?” 

Gendry just nodded and closed the door behind him. It was sunny and surprisingly mild as he walked home. Gendry tried to think and plan what pieces needed to be completed instead of daydreaming about how much he had wanted to stay and hold Arya while she wasn’t sleeping. 

  
  


“Gotta pick it up out there—Scarya! Don’t let that wee bitch get the best of you!” Davos C-word screamed at her from the sidelines. 

Her thighs burned and her chest ached with the lack of oxygen. She had lost first jammer and had to play catch up with Killehsi and her Dragon Bay Brawlers in hopes of keeping her team on the board. 

“Tiny Stark can’t stop the dragons!” Clegane screamed from the opposition’s section - where he towered over the first three rows of people.

Arya was sure Ygritte and Jon had shown up, and their screams drowned out by the rest of the fans tonight. It was a rowdy crowd: started with heckling early in the first round, had a fight by the third. The teams were evenly matched and headed for overtime. Killehsi was almost half a lap ahead of Arya and gaining distance.

“Come on, kid! Get her!” 

There’s Ygritte. She must have forced her way to the front. It was just the spur that Arya needed. 

Digging deep, Arya forced her legs to push harder, gaining so much speed she was practically running on her skates. She jumped the apex of the track and was just behind Killehsi—

 

“ _ Kid, come on kid, Arya. Sis. Come on? _ ” 

The voice sounded far away like a speaker on the phone that was losing connection.

There were hands on her, gently removing her skates and pads. Her sweat-soaked leggings felt clammy. Her helmet was gone. Where had her helmet gone? Her face felt wet but her mouth was dry. 

“Wassshs going onnnn?” Her voice sounded off, like she couldn’t control it. 

Jon and Ygritte’s faces appeared above her. They both started chattering at once.

“Oh thank fuckin’ Christ—”

“You really scared—”

“That asshole I am going to—”

“—don’t get worked up everything is—”

“—call your mom—”

“Don’t worry—”

“Give her some fucking air.” An enormous scarred face appeared above her. “I’ll carry her out. Who’s got a fucking car?” 

Sandor Clegane was carrying her out of the stadium. He was amazingly gentle for such a huge person. Ahead of them, people gave them room and rushed to open doors and unlock Davo’s aging, rusted Volvo. 

“Come on, Tiny. You’re strong. Don’t fall asleep. You fall asleep, you might die. Don’t die.” 

  
  


His wet soles squeaked against the polished linoleum floor as he tried to find the accident and emergency department. The hall smelled like disinfectant over the underlying coppery tang of blood. He dodged around orderlies and nurses rushing around, trying to spot Arya or her family. 

“Gendry!” 

Ygritte threw her arms around his neck, and he hugged her back out of reflex. It had been nearly midnight when he got a frantic call from Jon; he’d had to hustle out bar patrons and try to get across the city as fast as possible. 

“What the hell happened?” Gendry glanced around the waiting room filled with strangers. There were obviously some of Arya’s teammates still half in their gear and make up; there was an enormous guy working the tea and coffee machine and a worried looking guy with a thick Dublin accent was pacing and talking on his phone. 

“Some drunk asshole spilled his beer on the track and Arya was flying when she hit it and then she ate shit—”

“The doctors think she has a concussion—”

“I called her mom, but she can’t come down because of the youngest brothers. And Robb’s apparently having another child so they’re busy up there. Sansa might come in from Paris, but it’s the end of the semester, so…” 

Gendry could care less about the litany of why Arya’s family wasn’t here, but he also knew she would hate to have a ton of people hovering over her. 

The huge bloke lumbered over and handed a tea with milk to Jon and black coffee to Ygritte. “The fuck are you?” 

“Ummm—Gendry?” 

“Oh, the boyfriend.”

Gendry felt his cheeks heat. “I’m not her boyfriend.”

“So you’re just fucking around?” Sandor’s scars twisted around the corners of his mouth like he was grinning. It was hard to tell. 

“No. The hell? No. We’re friends.” Gendry looked around. “Can I—I mean, we— can we see her?”

Jon came to the rescue. “Yeah, she is pretty out of it still. Concussion, apparently, and some serious facial bruising, and a dislocated shoulder.” 

His insides turned to ice. “But she’s okay? She will be, I mean?” 

“Yeah, yeah…” Jon trailed off as he lead Gendry through the corridor. “But she isn’t going to like having to move in with us so we can take care of her.” Jon stopped outside one of the hundreds of anonymous rooms and turned to look at Gendry. “The doctors assured me that it looks worse than it is.” 

Gendry nodded and pushed his way in. He assumed she would have tubes sticking out of her or an oxygen tank or something but there was a steady beep and hum from a heart monitor and a basic IV in her arm. Really, she just looked like she lost a bar fight. Someone had stripped her to her sports bra and bound up her shoulder. There were dark smudges on her face. She was still and small in the bed. Gendry ached to reach out to her, hold her hand, push her hair back from her face. 

“She’s s’posed to stay overnight for observation. Should be able to go home in the morning.” Jon stood at his shoulder. “I know you guys have gotten close. I thought she might want you here. She doesn’t have a lot of… people.”

Pressure built in his chest like an overinflated balloon was pressing behind his sternum.  _ I’m her person _ . 

A nurse bustled in behind him, “You can talk to her, gents. She is just rest. It will be good to wake her up,” she told them, the Caribean cadence adding a gentle steadiness to her words. “She your kid sister?” 

“She’s mine.” Jon grasped Arya’s hand. “Hey, kid. Kid - it is time to wake up.” Arya’s fingers flexed, grasping into a tiny fist like she was fighting her way back to consciousness. “Wake up, Stark. Come on.” 

Her eyelids fluttered open and immediately shut again like slamming doors. 

Gendry leaned in. “Let me try?” 

Jon nodded absently as Gendry gently grasped her hand. 

“I have a bacon sandwich and a cigarette for you if you can open your eyes.” Her eyes popped open, and Gendry felt his chest constrict. “I knew that would work.” 

“Where am I?” Her voice was scratchy, but it definitely sounded like hers. “And where’s that sandwich?” 

Jon laughed and leaned over to gently kiss her forehead. Arya grimaced either from pain or embarrassment, but didn’t say anything.

“I’m not sure we can give you either of those things, but as soon as we’re out, I will arrange for that.” Jon giggled again in relief, the glee apparent in his laugh as his fear vanished. “I will go tell the rest of the crew you are awake.” 

Arya hadn’t let go of Gendry’s hand. She’d twined their fingers together. “How’s the head?” Gendry asked.

“I don’t know.” She screwed up her face. “What happened?”

“I guess your bout went tits up and you slammed into all sorts of parts of the stadium.” 

Gendry ran his thumb along her knuckles, his callous rasping against her fragile skin. He felt this overwhelming urge to take care of Arya. To tuck her up in her messy loft apartment and pour tea and whiskey down her throat until she grinned and insulted him. 

“I feel like I have the worst hangover  _ and _ lost a fight with a moving train.” 

Gendry chuckled despite the weighty ache of worry in his chest. “You look like you got a few rounds in, at least.” 

“Podrick would be proud.” 

She gasped as she shifted. Gendry tightened his hold on her fingers as tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes. They were both saved from having to respond by the reappearance of Jon with Ygritte and Sandor Clegane in tow. 

Ygritte rushed to the bed. “I knew you’d be just fine. Jon was worried.” She was grinning, but Gendry could see her hands shaking. 

Sandor leaned against the wall like he was trying to hold it up. “You know, for such a tiny bitch, you can really take a hit.” 

“The fuck are you doing here, Hound?”

“Arya—” Jon’s voice held a warning, “be nice. Sandor helped get you here.”

“And where’s here?”

“London Hospital.” A young woman with immaculately braided hair and a familiar voice showed up in the doorway. “Hello, I’m Dr. Tyrell. Call me Margary.” 

Gendry’s head whipped around. 

“How are you feeling Ms. Stark?”

“How do you think I’m feeling, Doc?” Her voice dripped so much disdain that Gendry almost laughed. 

Dr. Tyrell—he couldn’t think of her as Margary of the very pink bedroom and the multiple orgasms—didn’t even blink at Arya’s surliness. “Well, that’s a good sign. A return to your typical attitude means your brain isn’t bleeding.”

“How do you know how I’m s’posed to be acting?”

“No one here blinked an eye.” Dr. Tyrell stood at the end of Arya’s bed and raised one very tweezed eyebrow. “Any burry spots or tunnel vision?”

Arya prepared to shake her head, but seemed to think better of it. “No.”

“Any numbness in your arm or chest?”

“No.”

“Alright, well, if any of that changes, let me know. And let me know if you think the pain is getting worse.” Tyrell glanced down at Arya’s charts. “You’re free to leave in the morning as long as you don’t stay at home alone. Your concussion was quite serious. You need to be monitored in case latent symptoms appear.” 

She turned on her perfectly pink trainer heel and left without another word. 

Arya’s cheeks were red. “That bitch thinks she can tell me that I can’t go back to my own fucking apartment?”

“That’s not what she said—”

“—you already don’t take good—”

“Don’t be fuckin’—”

“Just stay with us—”

“—wee stubborn—”

“—so we don’t have to—”

Arya held up a hand, stopping everyone from talking over each other. Jon sighed; Ygritte shifted her weight and stuck her hip out; Sandor went from looking like he was holding up the wall to trying to blend in with it. 

“What if you stay at your apartment and I stay with you?” 

The room was silent as all eyes turned to Gendry. 

_ Fuck, I really need to start thinking before I speak. _

  
  


Arya could feel herself shivering. It seemed oddly appropriate, since she was usually so cold inside, to feel this chill on the outside for once. “You’re offering to move into my tiny ass apartment with me to babysit?”

“No, not like… not like  _ move _ in, but like, you know, and not—” Gendry shuffled his feet—“Would you feel more comfortable staying in your own bed?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“So I’ll come and sleep at your place, and you’ll just have to come to my studio sometimes during the day while I work.” Arya blinked. “You need to take care of yourself. This wasn’t a little accident.” 

The weight of his concern and worry relieved some of the weight on her chest. Her throat felt tight as she muttered the word. “Okay.” 

Gendry straightened.  _ He is really damn tall _ was all she could think. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I am just going to start a checklist of tropes... No, but seriously - I am having a great time with this story and a lot of that is your awesome support and readership. So thank you! There will be a slight lull in publishing for the next couple of weeks (I am in and out of town/ off the grid/ busy) but I hope to have one chapter (or if I am badass - two...) before I leave again in July. BUT I PROMISE - more is coming. We might even get to the plot... So please stick around more is in the works. xx 
> 
> Special shoutout to my awesome beta as always (who has never even seen GoT) NightjarPatronus. She has taught me an awful lot and been the best cheerleader ever. And to PreRaphaelites who makes me blush with her awesome comments.


	5. Chapter 5

Arya leaned against the banister as Gendry fumbled with her keys and bag. She normally would have some kind of sarcastic remark about him being bad with his hands, but she couldn’t bring her brain online fast enough. Everything hurt. Her eyelids were sore, the fleshy part of her nose felt dented—even her teeth ached.

“Come on, don’t fall down on me now, Stark.” He practically threw her stuff through the door. 

“Like I would be such an idiot,” she whispered, pushed off the banister, and wobbled. 

“Alright, steady on.” He was holding her by her waist, and even in her drugged up and concussed state, the pressure of his hands sent sparks flying through her chest. “If I pick you up and carry you, will you punch me?”

Arya snorted. “I dunno. Wanna find out?” Gendry swept her up into his arms. “Why are you so good at that?”

He kicked the door shut behind him and looked down at her. “I had to help my mom out a lot at the end. Before I put you to bed, do you need to take a piss?” 

Arya blushed and nodded. Without another word, Gendry carried her into the bathroom and put her down before leaving and closing the door. 

She peed and then caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her face looked paler than normal, or maybe it was just the contrast against the bruises and the circles under her eyes. Her arm was felt swollen, but under the enormous borrowed sweatshirt, she couldn’t see anything. She smelled like a bad combination of body odor, hospital anesthetic, and dirty clothes. 

A soft knock at the door made her turn so fast, her head spun. “Yeah?”

“Did you fall in? Are you passed out? Are you—?” 

“I mean, I’m speaking, so I can’t possibly be unconscious.”

Arya heart Gendry grunt. “Are you okay in there?”

She nodded before she remembered he couldn’t see her. “Yeah…” She sighed. She really didn’t want to need help, but she actually might this time. “I feel gross. I want to take a bath.”

“Ooookay.” He sounded like he was in pain. Which was ridiculous, because she was the filthy one with a sling and a concussion. “Call me if you need anything?” 

She heard him shuffle away from the door before she trudged her way into the bathtub. The tap was loud as she turned the hot water on, steam curling up through the air and fogging up the windows. Arya found a moderately clean towel and started to undress. It was a slow and painful process. She gasped when her ribs were brushed by fabric, winced as she loosened and took off the sling, and sighed in comfort as she successfully wiggled out of her sweat-stained bra. Finally, she sunk into the tub, sliding down the deep porcelain edge. 

  
  


Gendry didn’t know what to do with himself. He both wanted to burst into the bathroom to make sure she hadn’t silently drowned, and leave the entire apartment building in an effort to stop thinking about how very naked Arya was. Very. Naked. He screwed his eyes shut. 

“For fuck’s sake, Waters, get it together.” 

He stopped staring at the bathroom door and turned to the rest of the tiny apartment. 

First, he rounded up any and all laundry that looked—or smelled—like it needed to be washed. After changing the sheets—who doesn’t like clean sheets when they’re sick?—he started the teapot and pulled out bacon and bread for a sandwich as he had promised. 

Gendry glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes since he last heard from Arya. Okay. Five more, and he could worry. He cleaned up what passed for her living room, straightening cushions and folding her blankets. As he returned to the kitchenette, the bathroom door opened. 

Her hair was tousled from toweling, and it looked nearly translucent now that it was wet. The rest of her was hidden in what had to be the largest bath towel he had ever seen. 

“I was just about to come and check on you.”

Arya blinked around at her apartment. “Did you clean?”

“Not so much clean as organize the mess.” He glanced around. “There’s clean sheets on the bed if you want to lie down.” 

She nodded vaguely. 

“Hungry? Thirsty?” 

She nodded less vaguely, a tiny grin on her face. 

“Bacon sandwich and tea?” An actual grin now, and the worry that had been a vice around his chest since last night started to loosen. He grinned back. “Go lie yourself down.” 

Gendry turned back to the kitchen laid the bacon and toast with extra butter on the frying pan. The water from the teapot was steaming, and he poured a strong cup of tea—no sugar, just a touch of milk. He could hear her getting comfortable, shifting around the pillows, drawing a harsh intake of breath as she brushed against some busted part of herself. 

He glanced at the clock. “You can take more meds if you’re hurting.” 

Arya didn’t respond but her shuffling noises stopped.

Gathering up the tea, sandwich, and prescription bottle, he headed towards her bed. She looked impossibly tiny and young propped up against the pillows. He felt like a bull in a china shop balancing dining trays on her stacked crates that passed as a bedside table. He handed her teacup to her. 

“Thanks.” Her voice was scratchy and cracked like she was a thirteen-year-old boy. He watched as she curled her small hands around the mug and inhaled before taking a long sip. “Why are you looming over me?” 

Heat rushed to his face. “I’m not  _ looming, _ I’m…” He glanced around. “Monitoring.” 

She smirked up at him. 

“Eat.” 

She saluted. 

  
  


Arya didn’t say anything for minutes as she munched on the bacon sandwich and tea. It was strange having Gendry here. Babysitting her.  _ Literally doing my dishes…  _  Shouldn’t he be with that hot doctor, Grey’s Anatomy-ing it up in some on-call room? Or on his kitchen counter. Or in said doctor’s very grown-up lady apartment that probably didn’t have a futon mattress. She groaned. 

“Are you alright?” Gendry came rushing towards the bed, wiping his hands on his pants. “Do you need something? Is—”

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re kinda… pink?” 

Arya wasn’t a blusher under normal circumstances. Apparently, this wasn’t a normal circumstance. 

“I’m just... warm? And tired.”

“Alright. Take your meds and get some rest then.” 

“I think I’ll sleep.” 

He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t an expression she had seen before, and for some reason it was ridiculous. It was like he was pretending to be serious and couldn’t act for shit. And as much as it hurt to laugh, Arya laughed. Hard. And it hurt. A lot. 

Gendry grinned and stopped looking like a bad soap opera actor. “What is wrong with you?” 

“Your face!” She gasped out, still feeling the aftershock of her giggles. 

“My face?” He sounded incredulous as he sat on the edge of her bed. And that set her off again. And as much as it hurt—after being scared and bruised and tired—laughing felt amazing. “What’s wrong with my face?”

“Nothin’. You have a great face. But the face your face was making was a weird… face.” He cocked his eyebrows up. “I just said face. A lot.”

“Ya, you did.” 

Arya’s toes curled up under the covers from his nearness. She tried to find a comfortable position. “I should probably sleep.”

“Probably.” 

He needed a shave. And a shower. But it was still nice that he was so close. 

“Will you stay?”

“Yeah, I’m going to go sleep on the couch though. I don’t want to accidentally crush you when you’re already… you know..”

“You don’t fit on my sad excuse for a couch.”

“Not all of us are pocket-sized.” She flushed.  _ Was pocket-sized a good thing?  _ “If you need anything, just call out. I’m not a heavy sleeper.” 

She closed her eyes and nodded, feeling her mattress spring back up when he stood and headed for the couch. It was stupid to cry over him leaving her side—he was on her couch, for crying out loud—but that didn’t stop a few tears from leaking out. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Awesome Humans!   
> I am so sorry it has taken so long to update I will try (emphasis on try) to be more consistent going forward (July has been crazy busy!) I know this is short but I figured something was better than nothing? 
> 
> As always - thanks to my lovely beta and you can chat to me here or on Tumblr under the same username. 
> 
> Check out the Spotify playlist for these two lovable idiots here - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3XPgABgsBTwoVxTAUXUqZ9


	6. Chapter 6

“Honestly, I would be happy goin’ just about anywhere.” 

Gendry huffed out a laugh as they marched up the stairs to his studio. 

“Staring alternately at my wall or lying in the dark for three days feel like  _ just  _ enough boredom to make watching you make strange sculptures out of old pieces of crap––sorry I mean scrap––look like a damn good time.” 

It had been three days since Arya’s accident, and since she was finally starting to sound like normal––basically a tiny jerk––Gendry had relented and let her accompany him to the studio. 

“I can’t get over how supportive you are of my artistic dreams,” the sarcasm dripped off his words and she smirked. “I don’t know what I would do without your kind words.” Gendry stripped off his flannel shirt, trying to pretend he wasn’t self-conscious about her being right there, and grabbed his leather apron. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

“In all your furniture?” She looked around like there were too many options. In truth there was his bed, the deep windowsill she liked and a really uncomfortable old leather recliner he found on a street corner one time. And that was it.   

He laughed, handed over his ancient iPod, and turned towards his work station, pretending he wasn’t insanely happy she was safe and here to bust his chops while he worked. 

 

Despite his penchant for looking like a lost member of Nirvana, most of Gendry’s music was from the 80s, and it was actually really good. Arya had been, embarrassingly, listening to The Cure’s “Friday I’m in Love” on repeat for at least forty minutes. She swung her foot in rhythm to the catchy beat and ogled Gendry’s rather impressive set of shoulders. 

_ He won’t notice. He doesn’t think of me like that _ . _ And  _ that _ makes my creepy stalker ways much less creepy and stalker-y.  _

Arya rolled her eyes at herself and watched the mist from her breath gather on the old leaded window pane. She was glad not to be cooped up in her apartment anymore, but she was getting distinctly antsy, itching to get back on her skates. It became a focus of at least 60% of her brain at any time. This huge moment. Because if she’d waited too long… what if she could never get back out there again? 

Her accident wasn’t really all that bad. Roller derby girls literally compared their bruises before practice, and most people left a bout with blood from somewhere. It was a dangerous full-contact sport. But this wasn’t a––or at least didn’t feel like––a real derby injury. It was a stupid accident, and it was stopping her from doing something she loved to do, and more importantly, needed to function.

It was a sad statement of fact that in Arya’s 25 years on this planet, she had an apartment, an unfinished degree, and exactly one thing she was good at. Plus, a bitch of an ex-girlfriend and a dude who had her firmly in the  _ friend  _ column were the entire extent of her romantic entanglements. (Unless you counted the three dudes and two girls she had made out with at parties through the years. Which she didn’t.) 

She leaned forward too far and banged her head against the glass. She winced.  _ Way to go, idiot. Can’t even mope right.  _

  
  


Arya had fallen asleep, and Gendry wanted to toss a blanket over her, but he was worried that a) that was fucking weird and b) she would wake up and tell him that it was fucking weird.  _ Focus on your art, gobshite; you need to make money _ . 

So he did. For a while, at least. He sculpted and lost himself in the process, watched his piece form as though he weren’t the one creating it. 

Sweat poured down his face and his arms felt they weighed about a hundred pounds each. He sighed and leaned against the wall, and eyed the piece critically until a scratchy voice interrupted his thoughts.   

“Do you know what you want your statues to look like before you start?” 

“No?” Gendry rocked back on his heels. “Maybe? I don’t really know.” 

“Why didn’t you go to art school?” 

“I couldn’t afford it.” He stated it matter of factly, like it hadn’t broken his heart that he got in and couldn’t go, and broken his heart again to watch the devastation in his mom’s face when she knew she couldn’t provide that for him.

She nodded and blushed. “Does it bother you that I––”

“Was raised in a family that has a hell of a lot of money?” Gendry raised his eyebrows. “No. Does it bother you that I was raised without it?” 

“No. God Fuck no. Of course not.” 

She blushed so pink that her cheeks matched her hair. She looked like a deliciously frosted cupcake. He wasn’t sure why he had asked about the money thing. She had never made him feel guilty about where and what he had come from. But it mattered to him what she thought of him. 

“Good nap?” 

She started when he spoke, and seemed to be eyeing the way his shirt clung to his sweaty chest.  _ I should have showered instead of sitting here brooding. _

“Huh?”

_ Holy shit. Is she checking me out? No. Maybe she’s still disoriented from being asleep. And the concussion. Don’t forget that. Head injury. Far more likely than affection. _

“I asked if you had a good nap? Are you in pain? Do you need something?”

“Ummm. No. Good. I mean––” She glanced up and stopped talking again.

Gendry felt his chest tighten. Didn’t the doctor mention that there could be latent concussion symptoms? “You don’t look well. Does your head hurt?”

“No. I mean. Yes. But I’m fine. My nap was good.” 

She shifted so she was sitting cross legged. Her hair was sticking up on one side, and there was a crease in her cheek from her sweater. She was gorgeous, and it hit him solidly in the chest and as she blinked her stormy eyes at him. He knew it was eventually going to be a problem.

  
  


“I’m  _ fine _ , Jon.” Arya shoved her key in her lock, feeling exhausted and frustrated and sick of the headache that was starting up again. “I’m officially  _ in _ my apartment, so now you can stop worrying. I’m here. I’m safe. I didn’t have an aneurysm on the walk from the pub. ‘Kay?” 

“I just wish you would stay with Ygritte and I. We have plenty of space.” His northern accent was coming through more. He must really be stressed out. 

“Plenty of space and you  _ do it _ in all of them… all the time…” She trailed off, hoping she sounded like herself. She dropped her keys on the counter and pulled the strop of her bag over her head. “I just want to be home, Jon.”

He sighed and it muffled against the phone, “Fine. But call me if you need  _ anything.  _ Anytime. Really.” 

“I will. Promise.” She paused. “I love you and Ygritte too.” 

There was silence. Arya knew she shouldn’t have said anything now. She really  _ didn’t _ sound like herself _. _

“We love you too.” He hung up and she set the phone down. 

“That concussion must have totally fucked up my brain. And now I am talking. Outloud. To myself.” 

Arya groaned out a frustrated sigh and started to make a cup of tea. The sounds of the water and metal echoed around her empty apartment. It would be her first night without Gendry here. The doctor said that she was allowed to be alone, but they were still concerned, and she should keep avoiding screens and think about taking a long break from roller derby. One of which was fine, the other sucked donkey dick. 

Her phone buzzed behind her. 

**Gendry: Are you home?**

She couldn’t help but grin at the text.  _ Idiot, what happened to the cold island of a woman I used to be? _

**Arya: Yes. Jon already called and grilled me.**

**Gendry: Good.**

**Gendry: We have to grill you. Otherwise we would never know anything. Ever.**

**Arya: Not wrong.**

**Gendry: What are you doing on Saturday?**

Her stomach did a backflip. 1) He could just be asking as a friend. 2) Normally she has roller derby and he knows that… does he think she won’t play anymore? 3) It wasn’t like he was asking her on a date.  _ Play it cool _ . 

**Arya: IDK. Why?**

_ Yeah… cool… _

**Gendry: I have an opening. Like, a gallery wants to put my stuff in it.**

**Arya: Like it’s real art and not rejected car parts?**

_ Way to sound like a bitch, bitch _ . Her internal monologue needed to pick a damn side. 

**Gendry: Lol yes. My rejected car parts are going to be in a real place and I have to wear a tie.**

**Arya: Can you tie a tie?**

**Gendry: I was hoping the girl who went to fancy prep school could help me.**

**Arya: Do I have to wear a tie?**

**Gendry: You can wear whatever you want. And if you wear heels you’ll actually be the same size as most grown ups. :-P**

She huffed out a laugh as she typed back. 

**Arya: I can help you. Get a tie from Jon if you need one. I know he has some from when he was attempting to help run the company with Robb.**

**Gendry: Awesome. You’re awesome.**

**Arya: I know. What time should I be there?**

**Gendry: It starts about 8:30 so come by at 8?**

**Arya: I’ll be there.**

Before she could stop herself or listen to her inner thirteen-year old mean girl, she sent one more message. 

**Arya: It’s weird without you here.**

His response was immediate. 

**Gendry: It’s weird not being there.**

A soft smile was on her face as she finished making her tea. And her inner voice was distinctly mum on the subject. 

  
  


Gendry flopped back against the pillows and dropped his phone next to him while he grinned like an idiot. The pillows smelled like stale deodorant, and he knew he should wash them and go finish the final piece for his show and get ready for his shift at the Bastards’. But right now all he could think about was that Arya was going to come on Saturday. And that maybe––just maybe––she was missing him as much as he was missing her. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 is well on its way. Thanks for all the love! I will try to keep posting consistently. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a very personal exchange between Sansa (look! she's real!) and Arya about bisexuality/ pansexuality. This is based on my own personal experiences with speaking to a friend about my own sexuality. This is in no way a trigger warning but just a head's up that this is a real scene.

Brienne the Basher loomed over Arya where she sat lacing up her skates. Her hands shook like some rookie at their first bout. 

“Something I can help you with, Basher?” 

Arya glanced up. Way up. On a good day and a few stairs above Brie, Arya was face to face with her chin. Most of the time it was more like her sternum. But she was a strangely comforting and motherly presence despite being one of the most vicious and violent blockers in the league.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” 

“I got cleared yesterday by my doc.” Arya stood slowly. She still didn’t do well going from sitting to standing and it wouldn’t leave the right impression if she passed out right now. 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“I want to skate. I know I can’t jam tonight, but I figure I could skate today and then be ready for next week.”

“Alright…” Bash trailed off, trying to look impatient despite sounding worried. 

“So what do you want first, boss?” 

Bash acted as their manager as well as a player. They had met early so that Arya could get reacquainted with her skates without the entire team watching. 

“Give me twenty-five in five.” 

Twenty-five laps in five minutes? No problem. Two weeks ago she was skating nearly 33 in that time. Arya pushed to the apex and squatted, waiting for the whistle. The short sharp sound rang out and Arya hauled herself forward. 

The first lap, she felt shaky, ankles quaking with the pace she had set. By lap five she felt like she was going to be fine. Lap nine winded her. Hard.  _ Fuuuuuck _ . She groaned to herself as she tried to surge ahead. She was running short on time. Her pulse pounded in her temples and her vision tunneled as the final laps faded into a rush of sore muscles and short sharp breaths. 

“Twenty three?” Bash looked shocked. 

Arya was known for her speed. Always had been. She was too small to do any damage in a pack, so she would skate so fast no one could touch her. But twenty-three wasn’t fast. And it definitely wasn’t Arya fast. Her legs were shaking, and she felt sick, her mouth tasted like new pennies. She gulped down water and avoided looking at Bash. This hadn’t gone as well as she had hoped. 

“So I guess I should hit the gym, huh?” 

It was a lame attempt at humor, and it fell flat. She stuffed her water bottle back in her bag and took off her helmet to shake out her sweaty hair. 

“Scarya––Arya––” 

A pit opened when Basher used her real name. No one here called her Arya.

“We should start to think about B team. Or being a skating official. Or even non-skating official for a bit.”

“The fuck?!” Arya’s cheeks heated with an angry flush. “It was just one bad hit. It wasn’t  _ even _ a bad hit. Seriously? You’re going to bench me because some douche canoe spilled his beer and I hit my fuckin’ head?” 

Basher sat down and had a weirdly motherly expression on. “No. I’m not benching you ‘cause you took a hit, or even ‘cause you hit your head. I’m asking you to take time to heal, and to think, and to get back on your skates slowly.”

“So I can play?”

She sighed and shook her head, “I can’t in good conscience do that. You may not feel it, but you’re still recovering. Practice with B Squad and do some juniors coaching. Get back on your skates and let your brain stop jiggling around inside your helmet.”

Arya took a sharp breath.  _ Not quite as good at hiding it as I had hoped.  _ “Seriously? B Squad and coaching juniors? I can’t even hit anyone!”

“That’s kinda the idea.” There was a thread of amusement in her voice for the first time. “I’m not saying you will never jam again. I’m saying you need to take time.” She paused. Arya hated that fucking pregnant pause. “And if you don’t choose to give yourself a break–– or I will make the choice for you.”

 

Arya was determined to rip Basher a new one, but instead, she hauled all her derby shit on the Underground and up to her apartment without another word.  _ Look at me. Personal growth _ . She groused to herself the whole way home. But that didn’t count as bitching. Obviously. 

She glanced at the clock and sighed. It was still early afternoon, but she was determined to actually, like... Make an effort… And look feminine. Tonight was important to Gendry, and for some reason, it had become important to her. 

She needed help. 

Ygritte? No. She would give her condoms or sex tips at the drop of a hat. But help her pick out clothes and teach her to walk in heels? Unlikely. 

Talisa? Possible. She probably was too busy with her far too many children, though. And then Robb would ask questions. And  _ that _ was definitely not something she wanted to deal with right now. 

Sansa? Hmmm… 

She grabbed her phone and thumbed to Sansa’s contact info and put on FaceTime. The weird jangly sound rang for a minute before Sansa picked up. She was walking up the stairs. “Arya?! Are you okay?”

“Ummm, yeah. Definitely fine… why?”

Sansa smothered a weird giggle, “Well, you don’t call. Like… ever? Especially me.” 

Arya couldn’t deny that. She wasn’t exactly communicative, and she and Sansa hadn’t ever been close.

“Ummm… true. But I think I have a problem only you can solve.”

“World peace?” Sansa’s sarcasm crackled through the static as she unlocked her Parisian apartment. 

“I need to look sexy tonight? And I need to learn to walk in those heels you gave me last Christmas…” Arya trailed off and tried not to think about how desperate she sounded. 

A full minute of awkward silence passed as Sansa methodically set down her phone and hung up her coat. “Okay––” she drew out the word making it sound about nine letters long––“let’s start with the occasion, and we’ll find something suitable.” 

Arya sighed in relief. “‘K. Cool. Ummm… should I show you my closet?”

Sansa nodded, “What’s the occasion?”

“A gallery opening for an artist I know.” Arya could feel her cheeks heat with a blush. 

Sansa blurted, “You know an artist?”

“He’s a friend of mine…” 

Gendry was––well, he was Gendry. And explaining him didn’t need to happen right now. Or maybe ever.

“Alright, your  _ friend _ the artist.” Arya could have been hearing impaired, and she’d still have picked up that implication in Sansa’s voice. “When is this thing?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Sansa squawked. “Way to leave it to the last minute, A.”

“Yeah… sorry about that…” Arya shuffled her feet awkwardly in front of her open closet. 

Sansa sighed, and it muffled the speaker. “It's fine. Show me what we’re working with.”

In the next twenty minutes, Sansa rejected 97% of Arya’s closet. Arya was ready to hang up the phone and possibly go naked to the opening. She giggled maniacally at the thought until Sansa interrupted her. “Wait, what’s that black one at the back?”

“What black one at the back?”

“That dress?” Sansa was practically a 3D image when she tried to point through her phone screen. 

Arya followed the point. Ohhh…  _ that _ dress. That dress was one she had bought to impress a date once, but she ended up canceling and never used the dress since. It was short and sheer at the back with a black accent bow at the nape of the neck. It showed off her shoulders and arms, but didn’t make her feel like she didn’t have enough cleavage to be sexy. It was cute, and had never seen the outside world. 

“That one seems awfully…” she trailed off. 

“Hot? Sexy? Very appropriate for a gallery opening?” Sansa sounded either jealous or impressed that she even owned such a dress. “Well, that’s decided. Okay, so, black lingerie on bottom, and no bra.”

“No bra? I won’t have any tits then!”

“Tits are overrated.” The vehemence in Sansa’s voice wasn’t directed at her, but rather in support of her. That was definitely new. “And  _ that _ dress is all about legs and back. You have those in spades.” 

Arya was shaken. “That might be the first compliment you have ever given me.” 

Sansa blinked at her and shook her head. “Now the heels.” 

After a fifteen-minute crash course in high heels, Arya was confident she wouldn’t break an ankle, but also sure she would go barefoot up and downstairs. 

“Sansa, I don’t know how to thank you,” a warmth and unfamiliar sisterly affection spread through her chest. “Seriously. Thanks.”

“No problem…” Sansa lingered over the word. “While you’re here, can I ask you a question?”  _ Oh god, not an inquisition about Gendry, not now… _ “How did you know you liked––well, that you liked both boys  _ and _ girls?”

Well, Big Sis was just full of surprises tonight. “Well, is this question in the abstract or about a specific person?”

“Both?” Sansa’s face wrinkled in a distinctly confused and unattractive fashion. “Yeah. Both.”

“Well, I don’t really think about it as though I like two or however many types of people? I just like a person, and I’m attracted to who they are. I don’t necessarily think about what label society has put on them or me.” 

“Oh––okay…” Sansa sighed again, but this time it seemed more like she was taking her first deep breath in a while. “Thanks.”

“You know, if you, like, I don’t know, want to talk?”

“Yeah––maybe we should, you know––”

“More often?” 

“I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

  
  
  


Gendry could not remember ever being this nervous. His first show. Arya. Tying a fucking tie.  _ Who the fuck invented these things anyways?! _ He was standing in the backroom of the gallery, using a tiny cracked mirror to try to make himself not look like a fucking idiot. 

“So, final adjustments?” Grey’s lilting Mediterranean accent came from behind him. “Missendei went upstairs to change, but if you don’t like anything, let us know.”

Gendry turned around. “No, man, it’s awesome. Missendei knows her shit. My work never looked that cool in the studio.” 

Grey and Gendry had met when Pod brought him home on leave once. They had been in the same unit, and Grey and Gendry had hit it off. When Pod got out of the service, he had wanted to hit a lot of things; Grey seemed content to go the opposite route, and converted an abandoned small engine shop into an industrial-looking gallery.  

Grey almost laughed––the dude had an epic poker face. “This place would never work without her.” He turned to look at the stairs. “I’m going to make sure she is alright before we open.” He left without another word. 

_ Guess they’re together, then. _

Gendry turned back at the mirror, and tried for at least the fortieth time to tie his borrowed tie. “Fuck.” It still didn’t work. His chest was tight with anxiety and his shaking hands didn’t help in anyway. 

The pounding on the back door made him jump.  _ Arya.  _

He hauled up the old grated garage door with a rattle, and stopped breathing when he saw her. Arya was always pretty in a strange pixie kind of way, with the hot pink air and how small she was in comparison to him. But tonight was… special. She was wearing a dress, the first he had ever seen her in, and he loved that she dressed comfy, but her legs might actually give him a heart attack. And heels. She didn’t like heels. She was wearing heels. Daily, she wore little to no makeup––it wasn’t worth it, she’d said, since most people were too tall to see her face––but tonight she had stuff that made her eyes more intense, and her lips were extra shiny. 

“Usually people say hello when someone is at the door.” She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

“Huh?” His brain was not firing on many––or any––cylinders. “Ummm… Hello.” 

He gestured for her to come in.  _ Fuck, _ she even smelled extra hot tonight. Like roses or soap or clean skin, but whatever it was made fireworks going off in his brain. 

“Uhhh, hello to you too.” She smirked and sauntered by. Sauntered. Arya didn’t saunter anywhere. 

“You look––” he cleared his throat––“Um. Yeah. Nice? Awesome?” 

_ Why was he asking questions? _

“Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.” She tilted her head, and he realized he still had the mistied tie around his neck.  _ Way to look like a dick, dick.  _ “Can I help you with that?” 

He nodded. She reached her hands up, and he realized they were shaking almost as much as his were. She didn’t say anything as she loosened his last sad attempt and retied it in a few seconds flat. She flattened it against his new crisp blue shirt and smiled. “All set.”

“T-t-thanks,” he managed to stutter out despite his tongue trying to attach itself to the roof of his mouth. 

She glanced over his shoulder, and her eyes lit up. “Wow.” She walked further into the gallery. “Gendry, these are amazing. These are all yours?” 

He nodded and could feel his face flush. “Want me to show you around?”

“First, I have something for you…” She reached into her tiny purse and pulled out a silver flask. “I figured you might need some liquid courage.” 

He laughed as she unscrewed the top. 

“To Gendry and his first art opening. So that when you’re rich and famous, I get to say I knew you before you were a total dickwad.” 

He laughed again as she drank and then passed it to him. 

“Damn. You brought the good stuff.” He turned. “Want a tour before everyone shows up?” She nodded. “Which one do you want to see first?” 

She glanced around. “Where’s the water one?”

Gendry’s heart stuttered in his chest. “It’s over here.” He explained as he walked, “Missendei and Grey helped me set them all up and light them. So I hope they look better than they did in my apartment. Here it is.” 

This was also his favorite piece in the whole show. He had actually started it, not knowing what it would be. The fact that Arya figured it out first made it feel different than the others. Like it wasn’t for anyone else. Just for them. It was also the one he completed right after her accident. All his worry and a confusing swirl of emotions coming out in a piece that  _ she _ had figured out first. 

“How come it doesn’t have a price tag?”

_ Of course she would fucking notice.  _ “‘Cause this one isn’t for sale. The others are. But I dunno…”

“It’s your favorite too?” 

He just nodded. “I’m––”

“Yo Gendry!” They both turned as Pod banged on the front door. “This thing gonna start or what?”

  
  


Arya wasn’t sure how art shows were supposed to go, but this one seemed to be going well. Gendry had brought the eleven pieces he has made in the last year, and five sold before the last of the potential pretentious purchasers had left. 

Pod sidled up next to Arya where she was leaning and trying not to think about how much her feet and legs hurt in her heels. 

“You know you could take those off and no one would say shit about it, right?” He glanced down at her awkward shuffle. 

Arya grinned. “Very tempting.”

“I won’t tell.” 

Arya glanced to where Gendry was talking with Jon and the owners and slipped her feet out of the shoes. “Fuuuuuuck that feels better.” She rolled her ankles and cracked her toes. 

“I’ll never understand why women wear those things. They look hot, don’t get me wrong. But I think a girl looks hot when she can also walk up stairs without risking bodily harm.”

“I don’t normally wear them.” Arya sighed. “But it felt like this was a special occasion so…”

Pod nodded and offered her some of his whisky. “It means a lot to him that you came.” 

She coughed. The whisky came out her nose and stung her eyes. 

“Sorry!” he added quickly, “I didn’t know that was a shock.” 

Arya looked at his face through the whisky induced tears.  _ Don’t ask. Don’t ASK. DON’T ASK,  _ chanted her inner thirteen-year-old. “Why did it matter so much to him?”

Pod looked puzzled and swallowed more of his drink. “‘Cause he likes you. Like, a lot. Like, romantically.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Please tell me you knew this already and I didn’t just take us to a deep dive back to twelve-year-old secret crushes?”

She took Pod’s glass and finished it - without tears this time - “Thanks, Pod. I have to go. Tell Gendry his show was awesome.” 

Forcing her swollen and sore feet back into heels, she rushed out the door and towards the Underground. 

Gendry liked her. Romantically. 

The only question that remained was… what should she do with that information?

 

“Hey, man, thanks again for coming.” Gendry was tired but still buzzing from the adrenaline of the show. People had actually liked his art. And paid for it. “You’ll never guess who that guy leaving was.”

“Who?” Pod had a weirdly serious expression on. 

“This guy who gives artists grants to work  _ solely  _ on their art for a  _ year _ . I could just create stuff––  _ for a year _ . I mean, I’d have to be in Scotland, but I guess I should apply. Where’s Arya? I can’t wait to tell her.” 

Pod handed him another beer. “She left.”

“She left?” Gendry glanced around. “What do you mean?” 

“I may have–– _ ahem–– _ I may have inadvertently told her that you liked her? Romantically?”

“Wait, what?” 

“I may have said you liked her romantically. And I think––” Pod took a long pull of his beer––“ I think I might have freaked her out.”

It was like a bucket of cold water had been dunked over Gendry’s head. “You told Arya that I like her? The fuck, Pod?!”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry!”

Pod looked sorry and helpless, but Gendry couldn’t find it in him to feel bad for him. He was too busy feeling sorry for himself.  _ This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to end. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the longest chapter I have ever written I think?! I am having a great time with this story and though chapters might not come consistently I have them planned out it is just a case of actually sitting down and writing and editing them... Also, my beta is amazing (NightjarPatronus on here - go read EVERYTHING if you want to cry...) and any and all unintended errors are mine alone... And they make me cringe... deeply every time they happen. 
> 
> Here is the soundtrack to these adorable idiots: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3XPgABgsBTwoVxTAUXUqZ9
> 
> Here is the dress that inspired Arya's (and if anyone wants to buy me one I am down!): https://www.etsy.com/listing/704632742/algo-80s-sheer-back-vintage-cocktail?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=punk+cocktail+dress&ref=sr_gallery-1-4&frs=1


	8. Chapter 8

**Saturday 11:11**

Where are you?

**Saturday 11:24**

Missed Call: Gendry

**Saturday 11:59**

Answer your phone Arya

**Saturday 12:37**

Arya. Don’t freak out. Just answer your fucking phone

His screen went dark and flashed a weak dead battery warning before powering down. 

“Awwww fuuuuck,” Gendry groaned. 

And his head ached. Either from the sore spot where it had hit the bar an hour ago, or from his utter frustration at technology’s inability to make someone answer their phone and not die on him at a time like this. His tie dangled between his knees and gently twirled as he sighed. It was still vaguely wrinkled from him his failed attempts to wrestle it into a knot earlier.  

“Want another?” 

Pod’s voice was scratchy from exhaustion or the truly unpalatable whisky. Or from the pained silence he had been keeping as Gendry repeatedly tried––and failed––to get ahold of Arya. Gendry knew he couldn’t blame Pod. Pod thought they were already a thing. He was still tempted to put the guy in a headlock, though, so making him pay for booze seemed like the best current form of reparation. 

“Yeah.” Gendry sat up and rubbed at the sore spot on his forehead. “Doesn’t look like I have anywhere to go.” 

  
  


Arya didn’t look up as her phone pinged again faintly from the counter where she had left it. She tilted back the whisky bottle and felt the sting on the back of her throat and nose. It was bottom shelf crap, but there weren’t all that many options at the only store that was open on her way home. She had been tempted to turn her phone off, but wasn’t sure it was worth the effort. And at this point she definitely couldn’t get out of the chair. At the rate Gendry was trying to get ahold of her, it would die soon anyways.  _ Cheers to crappy technology _ . 

Pod’s revelations––the revelations about Gendry––turned Arya’s stomach inside out. Literally. On the sidewalk. She hadn’t made it a block from the party before she looked like just another wasted white girl on the street. And that stain was definitely not coming out of her dress. 

Arya had a crush or… something on Gendry. But they were friends, and Gendry slept with tall, sexy, tall, artsy, tall women, not short angry broken girls with no life skills to offer. 

So Pod was wrong. And now Gendry was apologizing. It was the only explanation. 

She tilted the bottle back again and found it empty. “Fuck,” she muttered aloud to her resoundingly quiet apartment as the bottle clattered to the floor. 

Her phone’s forlorn dead battery alert went off for the second time. _ Least I won’t know if Gendry’s still trying to get ahold of me. _

  
  


“Ouch.” 

Arya shifted, and aches and pains rattled through her skeleton. It was hard to tell if the pain was from falling asleep her chair at an unnatural angle or the splitting headache pulsing with her heartbeat. She wasn’t sure how long ago she had passed out, but waking up was definitely memorable. And not in a good way. 

_ In through your nose, out through your mouth, in through your -  _ Fuck. 

She made it in time to vomit  _ into  _ the toilet, but just barely. Well, this is definitely the way to show up to the first day of coaching teenagers.  _ And definitely why you aren’t mature enough to have a relationship with Gendry, even if he did like you as more than a friend or sidekick. You literally hid from him and drank yourself to sleep, dickwad.  _

Great. Her headache was accompanied by the return of her bitter inner child. This was going to be an awesome day. 

  
  


Gendry’s temples throbbed in time with his heartbeat and reminded him that drinking until dawn and then functioning like a person was not something he was actually good at. 

He resisted checking his phone for what had to be the thousandth time before he went to wash up. After standing under an unusually hot shower and steaming enough booze out of his system, he trudged into the studio to look for pieces he could work on. Not much had been left after the show, but at least he now had a bank account with more than two digits in it _. _

The piece he had been working on but hadn’t finished before the opening was different from his others. It was many sided with different scarring on each surface, and he had almost painted it with his torch to bring out varying shades on the corrugated metal. It was definitely about Arya. But with their current state of not-talking and Pod’s awkward reveal of his feelings, it felt weird to work on it.  

To his relief, his phone pinged with an email. Any distraction is a good distraction this morning _.  _

**Mr Waters,**

**It was a pleasure to meet you last night. I would like to follow up about the artist in residence program in Glasgow. There is a yearly stipend, and you will retain all rights to your work. Essentially, you would be working on your own creative projects besides teaching twice a week. You would also receive  housing free of charge. I am in London until Friday. I would love to meet with you and speak more about the program, if you are interested.**

**Varys**

Definitely distracted now. 

  
  


“Well. Thanks for finally showing up.” 

Bash’s unnaturally cheery tone clattered through the haze of Arya’s hangover as she pushed her way rinkside. Arya nodded and tried not to vomit on her skates. Even if she wasn’t suffocating in a fog of whisky and self-pity, being forced to coach a bunch of annoying little shit teenagers was not what she wanted to be doing right now. 

“All right, girls,” Bash called, “gather around here and we can start sorting out gear.” 

Every year, the A team––that same A Team Arya was not currently welcome on––hosted a mini season with young teenagers to compete in what was affectionately known as “baby derby.” Less hitting, more outfits. The goal was to get a new generation addicted to the adrenaline pipeline that was roller derby. The girls were an odd bunch that ranged from an angry delinquent with alarmingly purple hair to a peppy girl who looked like she skipped ballet class. 

Arya hung back and let Bash figure out gear and assigning helmets. The delinquent sidled up next to her. “Are you  _ really _ Scarya?” 

The side eye was strong with this one, and her tone dripped a bizarre combination of awe and disbelief. 

“Yup, that’s me.” 

_ How do you talk to teenagers? There should be like a WikiHow on communicating with these weird almost adults.  _

“So why the fuck are you here with us?”

“‘Cause.” Who was the kid?

“‘Cause you got kicked off the team?”

_ Little butt munch.  _ “Why are  _ you _ here?”  _ Yeah. Definitely go on the offensive…  _ Arya’s inner child and the delinquent both rolled their eyes at her response.

“My social worker and probation officer said I had to prove I was involved in community organizations, or I was gonna get more service hours.” One scrawny shoulder lifted in an attempt at nonchalance, making her look like she was trying too hard to be hard. “Apparently my tendency towards explosiveness made them think this was a good idea.” 

“Roller derby––one of the most violent women’s sports––is a state sanctioned attempt at therapy?” Arya’s eyebrows hit her hairline.

“Fuck therapy. Group is the worst.” The delinquent’s words trailed off into a groan. “Fuck talking about about feelings. Hitting is way more effective.”

_ I think I found a mini me.  _ Arya couldn’t help but grin. “I know what you mean, kid.” 

  
  


Gendry had typed out and deleted at least fifty messages to Arya while waiting for the Varys bloke to arrive at the bar. He said coming to the Bastard’s was fine since Gendry’s schedule was full until Friday. Except for the usual habitual day drinkers, the bar was mostly abandoned. leaving Gendry to alternately stew about Arya’s silence and worry about the strange man and his stranger offer. 

“Mr Waters?” 

The voice is strange: not exceptionally high-pitched, but seemed too high for the large man in front of him. The accent was polished but obviously deliberate, like he wasn’t wealthy but made himself sound that way. 

“Mr Varys.” Gendry stuck out his hand and the other man took it. 

“Just Varys, actually.”

“Like Madonna?” Gendry blurted out. He cringed so hard, he thought his stomach might actually have eaten itself. 

The man’s thin lips quirked. “Yes, just like Madonna.”

“Uhhh––” Gendry looked around somewhat desperately––“Can I get you a drink?”

“That would be lovely. Scotch, if you will.” 

Gendry was relieved to not have to look at the guy. He busied himself by pouring the pub’s best scotch whisky. It wasn’t that Varys was creepy, but he definitely saw and knew more with one glance than most people did in entire lifetimes. Gendry set the glass on a coaster and leaned his forearms against the bar. 

Varys sipped and sighed. “Lovely.” 

Gendry awkwardly nodded. 

“Now, Mr Waters, I must say you are an inherently talented young man. You take scrap metal and turn it into art––and I think it’s safe to presume you are self-taught?” 

Gendry nodded again at Varys’ pause. 

“Well, I am on a number of boards, but I can make the sole decision regarding the candidate who will receive the annuity live in Glasgow and work on their own portfolio––so to speak––as long as they teach twice per week at the local secondary school.” Varys titled the glass back and finished the rest of the rather heavy pour before setting the glass back down. “I know this an awful lot of information, but I think you are rather perfect for the position. You would have materials at your disposal and a year to work as you would like. And the young students you would be working with––well, to be perfectly frank––would have a lot more in common with you than with most artists I could hire.” 

Gendry was reeling. It  _ was _ a lot of information. Getting paid, a place to live––Glasgow. Teaching? “You’re saying they’re low class like me?”

“Low class?” Vary’s gaze sharpened and his voice changed as he spoke again. He no longer sounded like the polished art agent, only a working class lad. “People like us didn’t get the same education and you know it. We fight for it ‘cause we love it. And you would be damned good at showing those kids that anyone can create.”

Heat rushed up Gendry’s face. Varys was right. He hadn’t ever taken an art class, and art school wasn’t for the likes of him. But it might have made a difference if he had seen someone who actually liked art from his neighborhood growing up, instead of hiding his sketches from everyone except his mom and Pod.  

“Think about it, Mr Waters.” Varys stood and straightened his sleeves and suitcoat. “I think you would enjoy the freedom it would give you. And I think I would enjoy getting to see all you are able to accomplish.” 

The door banged shut before Gendry even realized the man had walked out. 

  
  


After coaching her delinquent and the other strange group of derby babies for the afternoon, Arya had skated with Bash. Neither of them mentioned the A Team or Scarya’s future. Even without hitting anyone, it was nice to be back at the rink. But she was sore now––apparently, skating for hours after days of no physical activity will do that to you. 

The steam from the filling tub permeated the air as she stripped off her sweaty clothes and carefully, neatly, put them in her hamper. She pulled out clean towels and opened a beer before stepping in the bath. The water was sizzling, and she hissed as it hit all her sore spots while she settled in.   

On her way home from the rink, Arya had listened to all Gendry’s voicemail messages asking her to call. She wanted to. Really, she did. But she didn’t want him to appologize, or her to realize she really did have feelings for him, or him to––this was the worst fucking option––try to make a move on her out of guilt. 

She stared up at the ceiling and tried not to think about how she was ignoring him. Her silence made her feel like a coward. She tried not to think about how she wished she could talk to him, because he had given her so much, and if this was any other situation, it wouldn’t be so fucking complicated. 

“I like Gendry.” The words bounced around the tiled room. “I like Gendry as more than a friend.” 

Tears pricked in her eyes, and her head ached with the lingering hangover and emotions she didn’t want. 

“I like Gendry as more than a friend, and I’m scared to lose him because of that.” 

The last words seemed to linger. It was the first time she had said it out loud. It was the first time she had admitted it. And, despite often wishing her bitter inner child to the depths of hell, right now she could use some snarky advice. 

  
  


Podrick was giggling where he was propped up against in the window - Arya’s favorite window to curl up in - as he sipped at his ninth beer. 

“So––so––so let me get this straight. A man––with one name?!––” 

Pod’s utter disbelief at Vary’s mononymous status continued to make Gendry laugh. 

“A man with one name has offered you a place to stay and work and make art like a real fuckin’ artist, just cause he’s working class like us, and ‘cause he saw your stuff the other night?”

Gendry nodded, his head thumped against the wall as he did so. “Yeahhhhh, that’s about it.” 

“That’s insane.” Pod finished his beer and reached for another one. 

“I have to move to Glasgow, apparently.”

“Scotland?!”  

“Yeah, Scotland, you fuckin’ drunk eejit.” Gendry laughed harder and tears welled up in his eyes. 

Pod tilted his head. “Gen, I think someone’s knocking on your door.” 

Gendry lurched to his feet and stumbled over his chair in his rush to get to the door. He yanked it open––“Arya––”

“Right family. Wrong member.” Jon stood there looking slightly rumpled and definitely stressed out. So, just about normal.

“Ughhh, hey, Jon.” He gestured into the disaster that was his apartment. “Come on in.”

“Thanks. I won’t be long.” Jon nodded to Pod, who was straightening up and trying to look sober but failing miserably. “Have you heard from Arya since last night?”

“No. Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing like that. But I figured you knew she had feelings for you––”

“She what?” Gendry’s chest felt like it was inflating with some strange combination of hope and stress and fear. 

“Yeah, so like, if you don’t feel the same way, don’t lead her on.”

“Don’t feel the same way? The lad’s fuckin’ in love with her.” Pod had propped himself up and decided to dive into the conversation. “And I, for one, cannot continue to support him emotionally. Or at least my liver can’t.” 

Jon cracked a half smile. “You like Arya?”

“Well.” Gendry shifted uncomfortably under Jon’s scrutiny. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah. I––um––ahem––I like Arya.”

Jon’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “A lot?” 

Pod was hooting with laughter in the background. 

“Yes,” Gendry managed to ground out. 

“So why aren’t you going out with her?”

“‘Cause she doesn’t like me.”

Jon laughed in a choked sort of way. “Didn’t you hear me? She definitely does like you. Sansa told Talisa who told Robb who told me.” Gendry’s head swam with all the names. “If you like her and she likes you, one of you is going to have to make a move. So, make a move.” 

Jon nodded again to Pod, who was still grinning, then left without another word. And Gendry stared at the door. Today had to be one of the strangest days of his life.   

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this took so long to post! Chapter 9 and 10 shouldn't be nearly as long a wait. Thank you to all the readers and commenters - you are awesome and wonderful and fabulous. I am thinking we don't have too much left? But definitely a few more chapters. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my Beta and Tumblr Mama --- this one is especially for you 'cause it is our two year anniversary!


	9. Chapter 9

Arya was propped against the wall, listening to Sansa gush about her date that night. Not that she had mentioned who the date was  _ with.  _ But that didn’t stop Arya from dying of curiosity. Sansa swept her perfectly straight curtain of red hair to the side and finished zipping up her cobalt blue dress that was the exact shade of her eyes. Unlike Arya, who was small with naturally mousy brown hair, Sansa was willowy with red hair like their mom. Arya was in no small way jealous of the shakeout of that genetic lottery. 

“Soooo—” Arya drew out the word and pulled the hood of her sweatshirt hood up—“Where are you going on this date? Notice I didn’t ask who with? Since that seems to be a state secret.” 

Since the time Sansa helped Arya get ready for the Night That Shall Not Be Mentioned, Sansa and Arya had texted or FaceTimed every day. It was weird and new in their sisterly relationship but it was oddly… sisterly. 

Sansa snorted, “A walk along the Champs-Elysee and dinner at a bistro. Then…” She shrugged noncommittally.

“There were no details in any of that.” Arya rolled her eyes and flopped back on her bed. “I mean if this dude is going to be so great—”

“Yara,” Sansa’s eyes flashed. “The _ dude’s  _ name is Yara. She’s Irish. She has short brown hair and electric blue eyes, and she’s hilarious and scandalous and sarcastic.” Sansa sighed, “And completely fucking brilliant.”  

Arya blinked owlishly. “Those definitely count as details.”

“So, what about you?” Sansa was holding up shoes in the mirror but still paying plenty of attention, voice full of challenge. “What happened with Artist Hottie?”

Arya glanced evaluatively at the pillow next to her.  _ I could smother myself with a pillow and not answer the question.  _

_ Don’t be a pussy,  _ answered her inner child. 

Arya rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. __

“Um… I don’t really know. His friend sort of told me he liked me and then I was a total coward and ran for it—like, literally ran in heels—and haven’t talked to him since. ‘Cause I’m not sure if he  _ actually _ likes me or if Pod was just trying to be nice. Or he, like, pity likes me? Which is definitely worse. ‘Cause I like him. Like, I  _ like him _ like him. For reals.”  

When Arya finally looked back at her phone Sansa was staring at her. 

“That was, like, human feelings. And you expressed them. A-and admitted you were wrong.” She blinked in spot-on imitation of Arya.

“Yeah.” Arya cleared her throat. “Yeah, I did.”

“So where are your lady balls? What are you going to do about it?”

  
  


Arya was skating backwards, trying to coax a timid derby baby to do the same. “Don’t stick your a—I mean butt—out so far. Bend at your knees, not your waist. There you go! Keep going!” 

Arya watched as Bella started to get a feel for the fluid almost side-to-side motion of going backwards. Bella squealed in delight. 

“WHOOO, look at you fly, DERANGED!” 

The scream came from the tiny delinquent next to Arya. The first thing most derby babies want is to start naming themselves. So instead of Juvenile DeliHITquent, as Arya suggested, Lyanna was known as Bear. Just Bear. For no reason other than she really liked bears. She also seemed to be a natural skater and team player. Bella, on the other hand, who apparently had a seriously nerdy side, had gone for Bellatrix Deranged. 

“OY, BEAR!” 

The scream came from the tiny ballet dancer across the rink, No Mercy. (It rhymed with her name Cersei, and she would absolutely destroy people with how fast she was.) She and Bear were trying to do the whip despite barely being able to skate. Bear was strong, and No Mercy was sort of insane, so it worked. Kinda. And they were absurdly proud of the bruises they were acquiring along the way. 

Bash let out a shrill blast a few minutes later and called everyone over. “Alright, Babies, great job again today! I have some good news for you all––we’ve been given a grant to help fund a permanent junior derby league!” 

High pitched screams threatened to break glass met this announcement as well as some spastic jumping and tripping over skates. 

“So––” Bash gestured and there was an instant and impressive silence––“officially, that changes all of you Derby Babies into Freshmeat! Practice starts Monday night, and I have new releases for you to get signed!” 

“So, does that mean you are going to stick around, Scarya?” Bear appeared behind Arya with her sidekick. “Or are you going to fuck off back to your own team?” 

“Uh, I hadn't really thought about it…” Between the drama with Gendry and trying to get healthy enough to be cleared, she hadn’t considered what that meant for her new mini-me and their team in general. Especially now that they were really a team. “What do  _ you _ think I should do?” 

“I mean, you don’t suck at talking to us, and you treat us like real people. So maybe don’t flake out and leave us behind?” Bear answered before Arya realised she had really asked the question. 

“And you, like, talk to us. About life. Like we aren’t idiots who are too stupid to have a conversation about anything other than the coolest new boyband or lip gloss color,” No Mercy supplied. 

Arya winced as she remembered answering mildly inappropriate questions about kissing, periods, and what to watch on Netflix. Bash hadn’t said anything, but watched the exchange with one eyebrow raised in challenge.

“Well, how about this,” Arya said. “Unless I randomly move to somewhere else, I will stick around as your reluctant semipermanent coach.”

They both stared at her with twin looks of utter teenage skepticism. “Don’t fuck it up. We want to win,” Bear said before towing No Mercy away. 

Bash walked over and watched the teenagers skate off. “Well, looks like you aren’t only funding the program, but also coaching it. Maybe you have found something else you’re good at.”  

“I’m just coaching. It’s not a big deal.” Arya flushed. _ So much for that donation being anonymous… Fucking Jory.  _

“I wasn’t talking about coaching,” Bash sighed and lifted her gear bag. “I was talking about you working with teenagers. They’re right––you’re good at it.” She walked off, then turned her head and called over her shoulder, “Maybe you should figure out how to do it for a living.” 

  
  


Gendry polished the bartop for what had to be the fortieth time that evening. Last call was approaching, and the crowd was finally starting to thin out. A bone deep exhaustion replaced the adrenaline that had kept him going for the last several hours. Between finishing his newest piece, thinking about the offer in Scotland, and wondering if he would ever see Arya again, sleep had been minimal to nonexistent for the past week. 

“I thought I might find you here, handsome.” The throaty voice matched the fuck me half-grin––Margery. 

“Doctor, nice to see you again. What can I get you?”

“Well, that depends…” She leaned forward, providing him with a solid view down her blouse at her strangely tasteful hot pink leopard print bra. 

Gendry sighed and avoided eye contact. He walked farther down the bar. “On?”

“On when you get off.” Margery slid into his eyeline again. “Or  _ how _ you  _ want  _ to get off.”

“Doctor––”

“Margery. We’re definitely on a first name basis if I remember correctly.”

“Margery then.” Gendry flicked the towel to land on his shoulder and braced himself against the bar. “I had a really good time with you, and I’m glad you enjoyed it as well, but I think we both know this wasn’t meant to be a forever situation.”

“Who said anything about forever?” Disdain dripped off her words as she straightened. “I’m just looking for a fuck.” 

Gendry nodded as though they were in agreement. “Well then, I guess you should look elsewhere.” 

Margery sauntered away without another word, letting the bar door bang shut behind her. Gendry blew out a sigh.  _ Way to go, asshat. You  _ definitely _ won’t get laid if you run off the only woman who shows any interest in you.  _

After shuffling the last few drunks out the door and stuffing people in cabs, he glanced around to make sure no one was left.  

“Am I too late for a drink?” 

Gendry’s heart stuttered in his chest. 

He turned to see her heart-shaped face with its usual impish grin. She was wearing the same worn in gray sweater he had first seen her in. There were circles under her eyes, and she wasn’t wearing makeup like at his show, but she still had to be one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. “Well, seeing as you’re related to the owner, I guess one drink wouldn’t hurt.” 

Gendry finished locking the door and passed her on the way back to the bar. Arya nodded, and her grin faltered as she fiddled with her sleeves and lead him back to the bar. He poured a few fingers of scotch for both of them and pushed one across to her. 

She lifted the glass but didn’t drink. “What are we drinking to?”

“I don’t know.” Gendry hadn’t touched his glass yet. His hands were shaking, and he didn’t want to spill it. _ The fact that she was here had to be a good thing, right? _

“I missed you.” Arya blurted out. “I mean––like, I––”

“I missed you, too,” Gendry felt his voice about to crack and blurted out, “so much.” 

He felt himself blush as she smiled at him.  _ Yeah it is definitely a good thing. _

“So, did you sell all your art?” 

Gendry huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. All except that one piece that wasn’t for sale.”  _ The first piece that I made with you in mind. _

“Look at you, a not-so-starving artist.” Arya’s grin set off butterflies in his chest. 

“Well, not starving this month, at least.” 

“Take a load off?” Arya gestured to the stool next to him. “I can buy us the bottle?” 

He nodded absently and placed her favorite on the bartop before settling next to her. 

  
  


Gendry took another sip of his second––or was it third?––whisky. Arya and he had passed the first two rounds doing basic catch up. The weather (wet), Pod’s newest girlfriend (definitely has fake boobs), Gendry walking in on Jon and Ygritte ( _ again _ …) 

They were both dancing around Pod’s awkward announcement at the opening and if it meant anything. To be honest, Gendry didn’t care at the moment. With her sitting next to him busting his balls, it felt normal again. He had been so off balance without her that even her sitting here out drinking him was better than her icy silence during the last two weeks. “I did get a job offer though.”

She tilted her head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, some dude wants to give me a place to stay and pay me to make art and teach art.”

Arya whistled through her teeth. “Look at you! Fancy as fuck artist now.” 

“Only problem?” Arya raised her eyebrows as Gendry continued, “I have to move to Scotland.”

“Like,  _ Scotland _ Scotland?”

Gendry threw his head back and laughed, “Yeah, like  _ Scotland _ Scotland.” 

“Well that’s… interesting.”

“Yeah. I dunno about it yet... but it’s a pretty cool opportunity.” 

He trailed off. He wasn’t an idiot. Scotland wasn’t exactly next door, and he would be lying if he said she wasn’t factoring into his plans. Whatever they were, or weren’t, he knew that he wasn’t ready to let go of her yet, or even have only long distance access to her. 

“I’ve been helping run this derby baby thing, ya know?” Arya pulled Gendry out of his muddled thoughts. She hadn’t been thrilled in the beginning, and had sworn she would do only the bare minimum for it. “Well, we’re officially a juniors team now. And I kinda, well, I kinda like it. There is this tiny girl who looks like a princess but could probably beat me around the track. And this quiet little girl who’s going to be a great pivot when she has more confidence. And did I tell you about my mini-me?” Gendry watched the sparkle of excitement in her eyes and shook his head. “She’s hilarious and swears like a sailor, but will also clean out anyone in her path as soon as she’s allowed to actually hit other players.” 

He grinned right along with her. Happy looked good on Arya. 

“Sounds like you enjoy this coaching things more than you thought you would.”

“Yeah…” she sighed and leaned back. “I guess I am. I’m helping with the junior league start up too. But Bash made some weird comment about me actually doing something like this as a job…” Arya trailed off, and Gendry watched her closely, waiting for her to be ready to say what was on her mind. “I guess like a coach or a mentor or like... I was thinking maybe like, finally finishing my social services degree?”

“You’re thinking of going back to school?” His face split into a huge grin. “That’s awesome, Arya.”

She shrugged and fiddled with the rim of her empty tumbler. “Yeah, I dunno. Maybe.”

  
  


He looked so good, it hurt. How come when she didn’t sleep, the smudges under her eyes made her look like a deranged, meth-addicted raccoon, but when Gendry was tired, he looked like a just rolled out of bed model?

Sansa’s challenge had pushed her into action. She was right. Arya had to stop running or hiding. From her life, from her future, but most definitely from Gendry. She had debated dressing up, but instead armored herself in her favorite jeans and her comfiest shirt and harness her biggest lady ball energy and went to the bar. 

Which is how she found herself without nearly enough liquid courage, actually talking to Gendry. And it felt so good. Like the perfect cup of tea on a rainy day, like a hot bath soothing sore muscles, like laughing until she didn’t remember why she started. 

Better rip the bandaid off before it gets even harder. 

Arya cleared her throat. “Are we gonna talk about the thing?”

“The thing?” His face is adorable, even when tipsy and befuddled. 

“You know––” Arya coughs––“the thing with Pod?” 

Gendry tilts his head like a confused puppy, and it’s too much. 

“Yeah like––you know how he said that you liked me––which is fine. ‘Cause you don’t. I mean obviously. I mean you do. Obviously. But as a friend. But like strictly platonically. But not in a like romanticalish way. With feelings for reals.”  _ Stop fucking talking. Just shut your mouth.  _ “I mean I like you - ‘cause, well, it’s obvious. You’re, like, hot. And an artist. And funny. And handy. And like really really  _ really _ nice. In a nice way. Not in like an idiot way.” 

His lips stopped her. Just the gentle and soft brush against her cheek. The warmth of his breath against her cheek, soothing even as all her limbs felt like they were floating away. 

Arya could feel the blush as it burned its way across her face. “Why did you do that?”

“I wanted to kiss you on the lips, but thought I should ask first. Plus, at the rate you were talking, it was a seriously moving target.” His eyes sparkled in the dim bar lighting. “Because I like you.” 

“You like me?” 

_ Great, you’re a damn parrot.  _

Shut up, brain. 

He let out a small laugh. “I like you.” He stepped closer to her, and Arya could feel his body heat through her ratty henley top. “And not just platonically.”

“I like you, too,” Arya choked out. 

This was insanity. She was actually expressing feelings and actually liked Gendry and he  _ actually _ liked her. Before she could think better of it, she stepped back. And then stepped back again. Until she was nearly to the door. 

“Where are you going?” He sounded nervous. 

_ Good. That’s how I feel _ . 

“Pick me up at eight.” 

“What?” 

She grinned at his incredulousness. “Tomorrow. Pick me up at 8.” 

“What’s at eight?” 

“You don’t know anything, do you?” Arya giggled. Gendry started to walk towards her. This was her one chance. “The date that you’re taking me on. Tomorrow. Eight.” 

The door slammed behind her as she ran down the rain-glistening sidewalk all the way ‘till she got home. Arya couldn’t help but beam like a maniac as she skipped up the stairs to her apartment. She had a date with Gendry. And she was so happy that no one was around to see the happy dance that the thought brought on.

  
  


Gendry watched the door slam shut behind her. 

Well, shit. 

He grinned like an idiot in the empty bar as he settle back down on her usual stool. He stared at nothing before two thoughts made it through his hormone flooded brain. The first:  _ I really need to come up with a good plan for this date.  _

_ The second:  damn. I didn’t even get to really kiss her.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this took.... forever to finish and post up... sorry about that! But I promise there is more coming (not too much I don't think...) I seriously struggled to figure out where to cut this chapter off... so here felt okay? Thank you for all the comments and love - it does definitely help motivate me to write... 
> 
> Out of curiosity - does anyone want the date with Jon and Ygritte as a one-shot? 
> 
> Hugs and Thanks to my Beta Mama! All your love and support is awesome!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a song referenced at one point and it is beyond sappy and silly but I suggest you look it up if you want some "ambience" or as I like to call it 3D Reading. Take That's Back for Good is readily available on YouTube.

“If you keep wiping that part of the counter, we’re going to have to replace it.” Ygritte leaned against the cash register and glared at Gendry. 

“It had a smudge.” He shifted his weight and hung the white towel on his shoulder. 

Ygritte nodded but looked skeptical. “Where are you taking Arya for your date?”

“I’m––wait, how the fuck did you hear about that?”

“Jon. He’s a wicked gossip. And you should know there are no secrets in the Stark clan.” 

Gendry groaned, “Greatttt.”

“Jon said that Arya sounded really excited.” 

“So no pressure, then?”

Ygritte smiled. It was a soft and sweet smile that made her look like a romantic heroine instead of a Viking shield maiden for once. “Have I ever told you how Jon and I got together?” Gendry shook his head. “Jon took me to the Blue Lagoon outside Reykjavik and we swam alone at night. He rented the place out. It was just us and the stars and the hot spring.” She sighed like a Disney princess. “It felt as if we were alone in the universe…”

“Is this story supposed to make me feel  _ better _ ?” 

Ygritted rolled her eyes so hard it was amazing they stayed in their sockets. “What I’m trying to say is, you absolute fucking numpty––do something that’s fun and different and  _ Arya.  _ Don’t overthink it. Follow your gut. Show her that you want to be out with  _ her.” _

  
  


**Friday** **5:34 pm**

Wear something comfortable. Pick you up at 7. 

**Friday 5:47 pm**

I’ll feed you too, so don’t worry about that. 

 

The jangly FaceTime chimes grated on Arya’s nerves as she waited for Sansa to pick up. 

“Hey Arya,” Sansa was tousled and breathless when she finally answered, “What’s up?”

“What––are you sick? You don’t even have makeup on.”

Sansa shifted nervously and blushed. “Just having a quiet day.” There was a muffled laughter and rustling behind her. 

“You’re not alone!”

“No, she isn’t.” A striking woman sat up behind Sansa. “Hello Arya.”

“Hi Yara,” Arya answered automatically.

Yara smiled and brushed Sansa’s hair over her shoulder. It was an intimate gesture that was sweet and affectionate and made Arya more than a little jealous. “What can we help you with today?”

“Uhhh… Well, I need to know what a text means about a date I have today?”

“A DATE?!” Sansa screeched, “Please, please,  _ please _ tell me it’s with Gendry…”

“It is.” Arya’s cheeks felt hot enough to burst into flame. 

Yara smiled affectionately as Sansa did a seated happy dance. “What does the text say?”

Arya laughed. “It says to dress comfortably, and he’ll pick me up at 7, and he’ll feed me.”

“You’re overthinking this.” Yara yawned and pulled Sansa’s still wiggling body back against her chest. “Sounds like you don’t need to look fancy and he knows your lack of regular eating habits.”

“It helps to date a friend. You can skip the awkward,” Sansa added. 

“Looks like you skipped the awkward too.” Arya’s eyebrows approached her hairline. 

Sansa flushed. “Uhhh, if that’s all, we have...  _ things _ we have to-”

“Do?” Yara suggested as Sansa’s face turned the color of her hair. 

“Call us tomorrow and tell me how it goes?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

They both waved as Arya tapped the hang-up icon. 

Arya trudged the short distance to her closet and yanked on the light string. “Comfy  _ and  _ cute? Fuuuuck.”

  
  


Gendry tried to take a deep breath and failed. The butterflies that had been dancing through his chest and limbs since Arya showed up at the bar last night had taken up permanent residence somewhere near his lungs and seemed to be siphoning off his oxygen. His palms were sweaty and his mouth was dry, which seemed wildly irritating when they were happening simultaneously. 

He knocked twice and the sound echoed ominously through the empty stairwell.  _ Don’t be a fucking numpty,  _ Ygritte’s voice sounded in his head.  

The door swung open and he felt all the oxygen come back at once. “Hi,” he said. She was dressed the same way she was when they had first met. “You look perfect.”

Arya’s cheeks turned pink as she grinned at him. “Thanks?”

“This is for you.” Gendry thrust out a bottle of Talisker single malt. It wasn’t cheap, but it was definitely her favorite. “Figured this was better than flowers.” 

Arya threw her head back and laughed. She set the bottle on her counter and turned back to him. “Yeah, definitely better.” 

“You ready?”

“Yeah. But I’m  _ really  _ curious about where we are going. What kind of date involves comfortable clothes?”

“Can’t ruin the surprise.” He looked at her kitchen clock. “Also can’t be late. Come with me.”

  
  


“Roller disco?” Arya glanced up at the marquee that read Rollerboogie Rollernation. “You’re kidding me. You want to disco dance while roller skating?”

“It sounded like fun.” He held out his hand and tugged her towards the counter. The found an open bench to put the coats on and lace up their skates, crappy rentals that smelled of aerosol pine needles with an underlying odor of feet. But they were kept in good condition. “You might have to give me lessons.”

“Oh yeah?” Arya gave him the side-eye. 

“I have–– _ ahem–– _ never skated before.” He looked slightly pained at his confession and didn’t meet her eyes. 

“Never?” 

That was a surprise. Gendry seemed like one of those people who just could do things. Like, naturally. Everything. 

“Nope,” he popped the  _ p _ in the word and glanced around. “So if I go down, I’m taking you with me.” 

He grinned and Arya could feel her heart clench in response. He looked so good. Judd Nelson in  _ The Breakfast Club _ couldn’t rock the grunge sex god look better than Gendry. 

The did the awkward walk-shuffle over to the rink door and watched the skaters fly by. “You ready for this?” Arya asked. 

“As long as you hold my hand,” Gendry said as he laced their fingers together. 

They stayed in the slow lane for a few laps as Gendry tried to find his footing. He kept sticking his butt out and taking them both down––he hadn’t lied about that. 

“Ouch! How did you manage to take us down this time?” Arya said amid giggles as she struggled to stand for the sixth time that evening. “Not very gentlemanly of you.”

Gendry laughed, his eyes far too twinkly for Arya’s comfort under the disco ball. “Who said I was a gentleman?” 

He helped her up and they started out again. They made it five whole rotations before the music changed. 

“Alright, all you disco divas and dudes!” The over-enthusiastic DJ came over the sound system, “It’s time for our first special of the night––couples!” 

Right on cue, the lights shifted to add romantic mood lighting, and everyone starting pairing off as Take That’s “Back for Good” started to play. Arya and Gendry coasted and looked at each other. Without warning, Gendry leaned down and pecked her on the lips. It was short. Too fucking short. But it still managed to send a bolt of electricity all the way to her fingertips. 

He leaned his forehead against hers. “Come on, we have a song to try out.” 

  
  


They skated for another hour with very little talking but lots of laughing and exactly zero kisses. Unfortunately. Though if Gendry was honest, he wasn’t sure he had recovered from that first peck. Gendry had survived some of the themed dances (who the fuck can do the funky chicken on skates without falling?!) but was mostly enjoying the tug of Arya’s hand every time he needed to stand again. 

The evening progressed and the crowd got exponentially weirder with disco diehards coming out of the woodwork, Gendry saw his chance to make a break for it. “Ready to get out of here?” 

Arya nodded her head emphatically.

After returning their shoes, they headed out and gratefully gulped in the nearly fresh air. “You know since you can’t smoke  _ in _ pubs anymore everyone just smokes just outside of them? I think it’s actually harder to breathe…” 

Gendry laughed and threw his arm around Arya’s shoulders and sighed as she leaned into him. Her bubblegum pink hair shone white in the streetlights, and it felt so right with her tucked up under his arm but it sent those butterflies into overdrive again. “So, ready for some food?” he asked.

“Yeah. I take it you have a plan?” 

“I mean, you did tell me to pick you up. I figured from there it was up to me.” 

She answered him with an impish grin. 

“How do you feel about both whisky  _ and _ breakfast?”

  
  


Arya leaned back and patted her very full stomach. “Pancakes and Jameson is not something I ever thought would go well together, but damn.” 

Gendry groaned. “This is like getting drunk and curing the hangover at the same time.” 

“I shouldn’t have had that third plate of pancakes.” Arya laughed and winced. 

“But they were  _ so good.”  _ Gendry forced himself forward and Arya leaned in to meet him. “Right choice, then?” Arya nodded emphatically. “Good. I will thank Pod for his input.”

She glanced around at the diner-bar combination that was known locally as “The Friendly Toast.” It looked like a cross between a 1950s American diner, a yard sale, and a hipster’s flat. It shouldn’t have been good. 

Arya knew eventually she might have to make the first––well, second––move. After Gendry’s too-short and too-perfect peck earlier, waiting hadn’t really enticed (if someone is only 5”1’ are they tall enough to entice?) him towards another attempt. “Wanna know something?”

“Definitely.” His eyes were twinkly and seemed to have a strange influence over how she breathed. 

“This might be the best date I’ve ever been on.” Arya could feel her chest and cheeks burn but didn’t break eye contact.

“Yeah?” Gendry nodded. “Me, too.”

“Walk me home?” 

“Yeah,” He was already turning to get the check. 

 

Arya was strangely quiet as they walked back towards her flat. It was unseasonably warm out, and they had decided, without any sort of conversation, that prolonging the evening was better than battling the drunk train passengers. Gendry knew she had some cockeyed plan, but he wasn’t apparently allowed in on the secret. He steered her around a dubious-looking puddle as they rounded the corner to her block. They trudged up the stairs still entangled, and Gendry ached, already missing her.

“Well...”

“Yeah…”

“Do you want to come in?” Arya looked up and blushed. “I mean, you did buy that bottle of whisky. It’d be a shame not to share any?”

“Ya-yea-yeah.” Gendry stuttered into silence and tried again, “I mean, yes, I would love to come in.”

Arya winked and unlocked her door. “Grab a couple glasses.” 

She grabbed the bottle from the counter and gestured for him to take her old broken-down chair before pouring them both healthy measures and watering them. Instead of handing him one, Arya crawled into his lap like a cat. 

“Ummm…” Gendry could feel his face burn and tried not to think about the proximity of her perfect ass and his dick. 

Arya stared straight at him with her Mona Lisa smile and sipped her scotch. “I figured after that one kiss I might have to make the next move.” Gendry gulped and tried to think about football standings. “This is me making the next move.” 

She set down both glasses. Concerns about moving to fast or making Arya uncomfortable crashed around in Gendry’s brain, colliding with his desire to kiss the hell out of her. “I really want to kiss you,” he finally croaked.

“So why don’t you?” her voice was full of false confidence.

“'Cause I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“Then don’t.” 

And she kissed him. And it was… awkward as hell. Their noses crashed and she accidentally bit his lip and he yelped before nearly knocking her off his lap. They both paused, breathing hard, and looked each other in the eye. Arya looked like she was waiting for something. He wasn’t sure what.

Slowly, Gendry cradled Arya’s chin with careful hands and angled her face. “This might work better,” he mumbled against her lips. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Lovely Readers!   
> So a couple of things - November really kicked my ass. IRL stuff has been getting in the way in a MAJOR way BUT I am hoping that I can finish up this story by January. Your awesome comments and encouragement mean way more than you know! I still am staggered at the readership that this crazy fic has acquired. ALSO - The Friendly Toast is a real place... just not in London so I took some liberties there... 
> 
> As always my beta deserves a shoutout. Love you TumblrMama(™) 
> 
> A COUPLE OF QUESTIONS:   
> 1\. Does anyone want a one-shot of Ygritte and Jon's first date? I might be smutty? It might be cute? But I am not sure I want to put the time in if no one is all that interested. 
> 
> 2\. Does anyone want a one-shot of epic sadness that is based on the day Arya's dad died? (I have a lot of angst that I can funnel towards that right now...) 
> 
> 3\. FINALLY - next chapter - do readers want me to smut it up and have us see what happens with Arya and Gendry FINALLY getting in bed together? Or just keep it light and sweet. I hadn't really set out with what would happen in that level of specificity before so input is welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my amazing beta (see I told you no canon was needed!) NightjarPatronus (seriously go read everything she writes - especially if you like pain and Sense8 or the Magicians). Thank me later. This is a longer piece and I am terrible at writing just one thing at a time... but I will try to post weekly? (Ish) 
> 
> Come scream at me on Tumblr @greenmountaingirl.


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